Over The Rainbow
by 13teen
Summary: Wendy Dawson was weird, some people even called her crazy. She knew things, things she couldn't possibly know unless she was peeping through bushes. She spoke more but said less in that eerie way of hers that half the people in town thought she was on some kind of drug. Wendy Dawson was weird. There was no doubt about it. Gabriel/OC Slow burn. Also up on Wattpad under courteelou.
1. Chapter One: Fall In Line

_New Story. I know I shouldn't be writing new stuff considering I have other stories that need my attention, but this wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it down. This is a first for me, and I know the SPN fandom (myself included) are crazy, but please be gentle, I'm soft._

 _Also, inspiration for my character Wendy has come from a few sources that some of you may have picked up on (lookin' at you_ chaiwalnuts _), such as;_ Sookie Stackhouse _(True Blood),_ Luna Lovegood _(Harry Potter),_ Rapunzel _(Tangled_ _), and_ Cassie Ainsworth _(Skins). The_ _similarities_ _are minor and as this story goes on you'll see that Wendy is vastly different to those characters._

 _Another thing I would like to point out is that the first chapter starts about four weeks after Cas pulls Dean out of the ground, and the second chapter is set season four episode two with it being roughly five weeks after meeting Cas – but I've twisted it a little to flow with Wendy, you will notice a few things from the episode like dialogue - not much else though._

 _And if you're wanting to know what I think my original character's look like, just head to my bio._

 _I also haven't had the chance to really look for errors as I wanted to post it as quickly as possible._

 _I hope you enjoy and if you're feelin' kind, leave me a review!_

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 _"The best index to a person's character is how he treats people who can't do him any good, and how he treats people who can't fight back."_ _-Abigail Van Buren_

* * *

 **Chapter Quote:** _"Y' so sad, feels like sittin' in-ah too hot bath, burnin' y' insides – sometimes it gets too hard t' breathe."_

* * *

Have you ever just blinked, looked around yourself and realised you were only existing? That you did the same old routine every single day without fail? Sometimes Wendy wondered what the point was; why even bother getting out of bed and forcing a smile on her face? All the voices that screamed inside her mind, all the emotions that barreled into her on a daily basis – sometimes she even considered jumping off a too tall building and ending it all; ending the invasions that happened upon her day and night; threatening to destroy her, all for just a moment of silence. Though Wendy didn't feel like this every day, today just happened to be one of those days – but those days just seemed to happen more regularly.

And some days, like today, Wendy felt somewhat numb. Is numb even the right word? Perhaps the word she was looking for was empty? But that didn't make sense either, because Wendy was always filled with emotions whether they were her own or not; a minute didn't go by without Wendy feeling something – anything.

The young blonde waitress sighed heavily and leaned against the counter resting her chin in her hand, and watched as the patrons inside of Marco's Diner mosey about around her while she tried to reinforce the fragile walls that surrounded her mind. It was slow at the diner this morning with the weather the way it was. In fact St. Francisville, Louisiana, was an easy going town – nothing too exciting ever seemed happened – which Wendy was thankful for. Everybody knew everybody here and Wendy preferred the peaceful sleepy town rather than the fast paced lifestyle of her previous home in Shreveport.

The blonde stared out of the large windows that lined the diner wall. Wendy thought the sky looked angry, dark clouds hanging above the small town like the heavens were ready to unleash all their pent up anger upon humanity. The thought wasn't comforting in the slightest, but Wendy brushed it aside as she waited for the rain to start. She loved rain – it was cleansing and it washed away the bad things.

And bad things seemed to be happening more frequently.

It didn't escape her notice. Even regular people could sense the change, like a bird knowing when to fly south for the winter.

But she could feel it. Feel it deep down inside herself; feel the emotions of every single being that stood around her crawl across her skin, penetrate her brain, confusing her own feelings with that of someone else's. Thoughts that weren't her own swirled in her mind; it was starting to get difficult to decipher what was her and what was someone else. She knew how to block it; knew how to put the walls up, but it made her eyes droop and shoulders sag – made her mind fuzzy from trying to keep those walls up day in and day out. And when those walls were weak – when they were at the point of crumbling and someone, anyone, had skin to skin contact with her; she would be bombarded with thoughts, emotions, and memories that made her dizzy with nausea.

Slowly, ever so slowly, it was breaking her mind. It was like looking at a mirror and watching cracks appear and begin to stretch across the once smooth surface.

Maybe today was the day she snapped. Maybe today was the day she couldn't find herself amongst the thoughts and emotions of everyone else in an eighty mile radius. Perhaps today she would be sent to the hospital again.

Brentwood Hospital brought distasteful memories to the front of Wendy's mind, making her narrow her silver eyes as she tried to push those thoughts away – imagined stuffing them into a box, then into a cabinet behind a locked door, and throwing the key away into the darkness of her mind.

She tore her eyes away from watching a crow fly across the car park and frowned down at the counter, noticing a splash of dried coffee and began the scrub it away with the tea towel she kept hanging out of her apron pocket. The diner door opened, the bell above it chiming with the entrance of whoever it was, but Wendy didn't bother looking up from her task.

"Scrubbin' pretty hard there, Wendy." The gruff voice of Sheriff Grosset sounded from two seats away. Wendy looked up at the Sheriff, a man in his late fifties with grey scruff around his mouth – watching as he took a swig of his coffee; black, no sugar. It made Wendy want to wrinkle her nose.

"Nuh-uh," She sing-songed kindly and stuck her tongue out at the older man before making her way down to him, placing the now dirtied towel under the counter. "I can get y' some food with that coffee. Coffee after drinkin' will make y' sick."

Sheriff Grosset liked his beer, liked his rum, and his whiskey on the rocks. He worked late into the night, the hours were long – the drinking was his way of coping since he found his wife in bed with his brother; that was six months ago now. He was lonely and sad, drinking made him forget; drinking made him numb to his emotions. She could feel the burn of rum sliding down her throat even though she had never had the liquid before. Sometimes Sheriff Grosset will replay the scene over and over again in his head, like he's stuck in a loop that he wants to break out of, but at the same time doesn't. Because if he replays it to himself enough times, then maybe he'll figure out the why.

The Sheriff pulled a face, "It's freaky how y' know that." She supposed he was right, no one did know about the Sheriff's drinking habits, aside from Wendy because of her . . . gifts, but then Grosset smiled kindly. "Guess I can't go t' tha' station on'ah empty stomach."

Wendy smiled brightly; patting the Sheriff's wrinkled hand and sending a small wave of happiness over the older man – watching as he visibly brightened, the twinkle coming back to those green eyes.

"Pancakes always make me happy." Wendy suggested softly as she tucked an annoying curl of dark golden hair back behind her ear.

"Pancakes it is, girly." Sheriff Grosset nodded approvingly and Wendy left him after refilling his coffee to place his order with Marco whom was the chef and owner of the fine establishment. As she walked over towards the pick-up window, Wendy spied Marco dancing around the kitchen as he cracked a couple of eggs into a bowl followed by some sort of herb.

"The Sheriff would like'ah stack of pancakes." Wendy informed the Latino, watching as he moved around the area happily in love; she knew why he was so happy, and it made her want to dance with him. Through her weakened mental wards she felt the little swirls of warmth do loops inside her stomach, she shifted those walls and embraced the emotion – feeling light, like fairy floss.

Happiness was a beautiful feeling, it made Wendy think of sunflowers and ice cream; of twirling and laughter. It was one of the emotions Wendy will never tire of feeling.

Marco looked up and grinned, joy shinning in his dark eyes. "You got it, baby girl."

Wendy smiled and leaned on the small ledge of the order window before commenting, "Daniel comes home today."

"Don't I know it, doll-face." Marco chirped. "I got it all planned out. I'm gonna' make dinner, you know, Danny's favourite. Hell, I even got the expensive champagne he's always raving about."

 _Baby boy sure does love his champagne._

The thought flittered through a crack in the walls.

"That sounds lovely." Wendy smiled softly, feeling all that love Marco emitted warm her body and tingle across her skin.

"You bet your fine ass, Wendy – just me, Danny, and a lot of coconut oil." Marco grinned before throwing her a flirty wink.

"Jesus Christ, Marco." Joyce reprimanded as she picked up two plates from the window, startling Wendy enough to make her jump. "The girl has innocent ears. Don't listen t' him, hun'."

Marco snorted and rolled his eyes, "Yeah-huh, sure she does."

Joyce squinted her hazel eyes at the chef before turning to Wendy, her short hazelnut hair just a little darker than her skin tone, followed with the movement. "Hun', can y' grab table five, I need t' give Emily a call, darlin's not feelin' too good today."

"'Course," Wendy agreed readily before adding, "she's not sick though. Ah girl named Jessica keeps harassin'er." Wendy informed the older woman. Joyce's expression twisted into a mix of mild anger and panic, before she whipped out her cell phone and dialed her home number – walking to the back room.

"Baby girl . . ." Marco reprimanded the young blonde; eyebrows lowered over those dark eyes, disapproval twisted around inside of her. "We talked about you doin' that. Most people don't like it."

"Emmy is sad," Wendy stated it like it was obvious because it was – at least to her anyway. Wendy remembered brushing against her by accident a week ago and having an onslaught of emotion crash over her in waves of sorrow, like she was drowning. A memory of a brunette girl shoving Emily into the bathroom and locking her in for two full classes before a janitor noticed and came to the rescue. "I don't wan' her t' be sad anymore."

Wendy turned away from her friend's critical gaze, and forcefully shoved Marco's emotions from her body before she slammed her walls back up again. She didn't want nor need Marco's disapproval, granted she could have a little more tact when talking about sensitive subjects, but Wendy always preferred getting straight to the point – hated dancing around a subject when it was just easier to tell it like it is. Besides this would help Emily, letting her mother know would be the first step to solving the problem. The blonde waitress pulled the notepad from her red apron pocket, grabbing a pen from the register as she passed and made her way to table five towards the back of the diner. She drew a tiny smiley face on the note pad to try and cheer herself up before coming to a stop at her destination, gaze flicking up towards the new patron.

Piercing gold eyes met her own, and for a moment it was just her; no one else's thoughts and emotions banging against the walls trying to break through – just Wendy inside her mind, only her thoughts and emotions keeping her company. The mental shields drifted away without her even realising while she welcomed the sound of silence; _relished_ in it.

So _completely_ and _utterly_ quiet.

It was gone as fast as it came. Everyone around her projected every little thing they were feeling at her while she fought the urge to either pass out or vomit. Wendy slammed those walls back up, even though they were weak, even though it was tiring – she wouldn't let them crumble again. Wendy took a deep breath, feeling sweat bead across her forehead, before she met the strangers' eyes again.

He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

It wasn't in the conventional sense. He wasn't a male model nor was he extremely tall or overly muscular. He seemed to be short – taller than Wendy by a head or so – nose a little large and thin lips twitched upwards in a little smirk with his golden brown hair swept back from his face; reminding her of caramel.

But the man glowed, glowed so brightly in colours of gold and white; shining in a pure light of absolute magnificence. It was a vision really, to watch those burnt gold wings ruffle slightly before settling, but then she blinked and they were no longer there – her delicate mind playing tricks on her again.

"Y' have beautiful eyes," the blonde waitress commented softly before giving the man in front of her a dreamy smile. "Reminds me of my Pop leavin' his glass of whiskey on his desk, ah stray beam of sunlight ligthin' it up – makin' it look like molten gold." The man's eyes lit up in amusement as he raised an eyebrow at her while still being embraced within that golden light. Wendy glanced down at the menu he still held in his hands and tilted her head to the side; trying to feel anything coming from him. Suddenly she tasted sugar, like she had just stuck a tablespoon of it in her mouth. Wendy's lips pulled into a beaming smile, but no less dreamy, "Y' look like'ah man who has ah sweet tooth, an' we have cheesecake. Boysenberry – I like it." She finished her rambling and gazed at the glowing man before her, waiting patiently for an answer with enchanting silver eyes.

The glowing man's smirk widened a little in an oddly familiar way.

"Wendy, you aren't givin' tha' gentleman ah hard time, are ya'?" Joyce appeared beside the younger waitress out of nowhere with a coffee pot in her hand and full lips pursed, and she stared the new patron down – as if waiting for him to make a rude remark about the younger server so she could tear him a new one.

"No." Wendy blinked at the older waitress, trying to look innocent at the semi amused look Joyce was giving her. People tended to be iffy around her, she made them uncomfortable. She supposed that was the 'hard time' Joyce was referring to. "I was jus' tellin' him how lovely his eyes were, an' that we have tha' cheesecake I like."

Joyce clucked her tongue before turning her attention back to the customer, "I'm sorry sir, Wendy tends t' get'ah bit spacey, but she's ah sweetheart."

"Awh, nothing to apologise for," the man winked at the blonde and handed the menu to Wendy, which she readily took. "Not every day you get a compliment like that. I'll take that cheesecake you mentioned, sugar."

"Well, alrighty then," Joyce turned to Wendy and gave her a look that told her they'd be having words later, before she walked away to serve another customer.

Wendy withheld a sigh. Not looking forward to the discussion with the older woman, considering Joyce had a talent for reprimanding; Wendy was a hundred percent positive that she could even make a frog feel guilty for croaking too loud. The younger waitress left the man at table five without a word, seeing the Sheriff's pancakes waiting for him at the order window, grabbed them and placed them in front of Grosset.

"Pancakes for tha' Sheriff." Wendy beamed at the aged man as he nodded his in thanks. "Y' can find happiness in most places, Sheriff, but one of them isn't at tha' bottom of ah' bottle."

The Sheriff sighed, took a sip of his coffee and grumbled, "I know that, sweetheart."

"Y' should try salsa dancin'." Wendy suggested brightly, leaning on the counter once again as the Sheriff took a large bite of the pancake-y goodness.

"I sometimes wonder what goes on in that pretty head of yours." Grosset gestured at her with his fork then stabbed it back into the breakfast dessert to cut himself another bite.

"Lots'ah things," Wendy admitted softly, but no less happy. "Sometimes I think of those funny cat videos on youtube – I like tha' ones where they fall off thangs –" She realeased a soft laugh, "or if I can get away with fillin' tha house with those soft plastic balls that kids jump in at play centers – I'd want them in all colours though. I dunno' where I'd get so many, y' know, Grams an' Pop's house is pretty big . . ." Wendy trailed off when she saw the befuddled look on the sheriff's face.

"Right," Grosset gave a kind, but strained, smile.

Wendy cast her eyes down, smiled a little back at the Sheriff and wandered off to the walk in fridge in the kitchen. She rambles, she knows this – but her ramblings made people nervous or uncomfortable. Marco's brother told her it was because she sounded like a stoner; sleepy, even dazed. She found the cheesecake on the second shelf that had been delivered from the little bakery just down the road early this morning, and cut a decent portion for the man who glowed; she briefly wondered if he knew that he glowed. But she decided not to tell him, people didn't like when she would inform them things about themselves.

Wendy placed the slice of deliciousness on a plate and trailed out of the small cold room. The glowing man probably wouldn't like the fact that the town crazy was saying that he was glowing. Perhaps everything she was seeing, everything she felt or heard was all in her head; maybe what her father and Doctor Larsher said all those years ago was correct, maybe everything was a figment of her imagination. Her Grams was adamant that that wasn't so, insisted that Malcolm Dawson and Doctor Larsher didn't know "nothin' about nothin'," and instead she called Wendy an Empath a rare type of Valkaras – a natural born witch that didn't need demon deals to have power. Grams told Wendy that she was born with a great but often terrible gift that should not be used lightly; her grandmother helped her when it all became too much, saved her when no else seemed to care.

It was strange to see him surrounded by gold. Strange, because most people – humans – were encased by a sky blue. A few others were a mixture of that same blue with a striking shade of violet mixed in; a Valkaras, like Grams – like Wendy. There were other's marked with shadowed purples – Borrowers – humans who made . . . _agreements_ for power. But ever since Wendy could remember she could see colours surrounding everyone she knew or passed; could see the colour in the words she could hear. Grams referred to it as Soul Seeing, said that Wendy's mother, Selene, once had the very same gift.

"You're thinking pretty hard there, cupcake. You didn't spit on it, did ya?" The glowing – no – the man questioned with an easy grin.

She hadn't noticed that she had arrived at her destination.

"I'm tryin' t'' decide if I'm imaginin' thangs or not." She answered him softly and honestly, her brow wrinkling as she chewed on her lip while gazing down at the man's cheesecake.

The golden eyed man kicked out the seat opposite him, "Sit." Wendy frowned at him, completely bewildered by the invitation to join him. "C'mon, you're not busy and I could use the company."

So she sat, placing the cheesecake in front of the customer and watched as the man dug into the creamy cake. She was confused, confused because she couldn't get a proper read on him like she could with everyone else. Wendy wondered that if she were to hold his hand would she be able to see and feel everything or would there only be that blissful absolute silence. Either way, she wanted to know, but she fought the impulse. _He_ wouldn't like that. _People_ didn't like that.

"You know, I haven't seen a Valkaras in a long time, let alone an Empath." The man spoke around a mouthful of cake, regarding her almost knowingly. "Like, Empaths? I've met a total of three and you are – so far – the sanest. How old are you now anyway? Eighteen?"

"Twenty-two." Wendy corrected automatically. A Valkaras, so he understood the term and perhaps even knew about the things that go bump in the night, which only made her more curious about who exactly this man was because this man before her was familiar, and it made her want to reach out, grasp his hand and find out who this glow-y man was – because it was frustrating. For once in her life she wanted someone else's thoughts running around in her mind.

"Huh," His voice brought her from her musings. He was studying her with those eyes she already decided she loved. "The names Thomas." His words mixed with the colours of silver and midnight blue, invisible, but she could feel them coil around her fingers.

 _Lies._

Lies sliding over her hands like she placed them into a bowl of whisked eggs; it made Wendy shudder.

"Liar."

Mr. Glow-y chuckled.

"Clever," He pushed the empty plate away, putting his elbows upon the table before leaning forward, starring at her with intense golden eyes. "The names Loki, cupcake." More silver and blue, but mixed with yellow, not a lot – but enough to tell her that it wasn't a complete lie.

"Liar." Wendy repeated, leaning forward on the table to maintain eye contact with the man. "I don't like bein' lied to."

The man raised an eyebrow before leaning closer, "It's Loki – technically not a lie." His mouth pulled down as he narrowed his eyes at the blonde, running his tongue along his teeth before he seemed to come to a decision; clucking his tongue before opening his mouth again, his lips quirking up into a small smile. "It's Gabriel – I _do_ prefer Loki though."

His name echoed around in her mind accompanied with a gong, ringing in her ears – jogging a memory that was just within reach but she couldn't quite grasp.

"Ah glowin' man named Gabriel." Wendy smiled easily, looking immensely pleased at the fact that he told her a truth that shined with yellow. Her expression became thoughtful as she gazed upon his features, squinting her eyes at Mr. Glow-y while muttering, "Y' name has three syllables . . . Gabriel is such'ah mouthful."

Gabriel's smile turned devilish, and he wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Well, I'm not one for bragging . . ."

Wendy's eyes widened – her face heating and immediately cast her eyes downwards both flustered and embarrassed. "That's not what I meant!" She retorted grumpily. Gabriel chuckled, his eyes lightening up in obvious amusement. It was silent between the two with Gabriel looking at her with golden half lidded eyes and head tilted upwards just so, though the silence was not awkward, only lasting a minute or two before Wendy spoke up again. "I saw wings before but then they disappeared . . . they looked like caramel. Were they real? Can y' fly?" She questioned, intrigued with the answers she might receive. She had never encountered a winged man before.

"Oh, trust me sugar, they're as real as real can be." Gabriel gave a delighted smile as he placed his chin upon his laced fingers and observed the blonde woman with cunning eyes. "And flying just comes naturally."

"I wonder what it would be like . . ." Wendy murmured, her eyes becoming slightly unfocused. " _Somewhere over tha'_ _rainbow_ ," she sung quietly before letting out a laugh, picturing the man before her vaulting over a rainbow with ease, like a high jumper.

Gabriel whistled his expression turning more sympathetic, "Damn, only twenty-two and you're already starting to lose it. Tough break, honeybun."

"Y' deflect with humor." Wendy commented as she pushed a curl back behind her ear, completely brushing aside the remark about her sanity as she fiddled with her fingers. She felt grief wash over her, radiating from the winged being across from her, but it was quickly shut down, and Wendy wondered how he got through her mental shield without her approval; how the connection broke without her ending it. "You're so sad, feels like sittin' in'ah too hot bath, burnin' y' insides – sometimes it gets too hard t' breathe."

Gabriel blinked at the blonde girl on the other side of the table, those big grey eyes shined like silver, seeming to be staring right through him, but then he grinned as his eyes scanned over her full breasts that stretched the fabric of the horrible red and yellow waitress uniform. "You and I can go for a hot bath; you'll hear no complaints from me."

"I don't –" Wendy frowned, a crease appearing between her thick brows as she deciphered the pink words she was hearing. "Are . . . are y'' flirtin' with me?"

"I was trying to." Gabriel confirmed before clucking his tongue once more and rolled his eyes. The familiarity of the winged man was becoming unsettling because Wendy couldn't understand why he was so familiar, yet not familiar; she had never met him before, at least she was almost positive that she had never met him before – surely she would remember those piercing eyes. She wanted to pry his mind open and get answers, wanted to know every single thought he had - know every memory so she could find the reason for his familiarity. But she didn't; couldn't. How could she bring herself to invade someone's privacy, to tear through their mind like it was nothing? The guilt would weigh her down for the remainder of her life.

Wendy wrinkled her nose. "You're deflectin' again." She realised, and then looked down at his clean plate. "Would y' like another?"

"Nah," Gabriel sighed as he leaned back in the chair and stretched his arms above his head; releasing a small groan. "I'll be back tomorrow for more cake though, sugarplum." He stood quickly and gracefully, brushing imaginary lint from his shirt, seeming to want something to do with his hands.

"Tomorrow," Wendy started as she watched Gabriel run a hand through his golden-brown locks. "Will y' tell me why y' have wings?"

"Well honey, that depends on what kind of cake you give me." Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, his words once again turning pink, while sliding his hands into his pockets.

Wendy pursed her lips, nose wrinkling as she did so. "Tsk, tsk." She wagged her finger at him, looking him over as she contemplated Gabriel's name – he preferred Loki was what he said, but Wendy didn't like it because 'Loki' just didn't seem to fit, and Gabriel was too – well she couldn't quite place it, it just seemed too formal a name for the man that stood before her.

"I'mma' call y' Gigi," Wendy announced, smiling happily and looking quite pleased with herself. Wendy didn't know where the name came from, it appeared suddenly in her mind, flashing above his head in big neon letters, then turned away from Mr. Glow-y and leaving him to wait on the other patrons of the diner; completely oblivious to Gabriel following the curvaceous blonde's figure with his eyes, lips twitching upwards before finally making his way out of the small diner.

* * *

Wendy heaved a sigh as she closed the front door to the old farm house behind her, listening to the six bells that were tied onto the door handle jingle as she flipped the light on. She shrugged off her pink jacket and hung it up beside the hall table which was where she placed her keys; the small smiley face key-chain winking in the glow of the foyer light. The house was quiet, and dark, devoid of any life save for the orange tabby cat that trotted over to greet it's master; weaving around Wendy's ankles.

"Hello Nancy," Wendy cooed at the familiar, bent down at the waist and heaved the chubby kitty up into her arms; scratching behind his ears. "Such'ah pretty kitty."

Wendy only received a grouchy 'meow' back as she moved down the hall, passing the living room and staircase before finding herself in the homey kitchen that was cluttered with various herbs and glass jars; some of which were either full or half full of different materials that ranged from dried plants to homemade oils and other unique concoctions. Placing Nancy on the small round dining table, Wendy began to fill the kettle that sat idly on the stove and placed it back once she finished her task, lighting the gas to boil the water. While she patiently waited for the kettle to whistle, Wendy grabbed a tall yellow stripped mug from the cabinet and poured what some people would say was too much honey into it before adding a peppermint teabag.

Wendy released another sigh as she leaned against the counter top and let the walls she held up all day come crashing down. Her mind felt like complete and utter jelly, but dear Lord it was such a sweet relief. No more did she have the thoughts and emotions of others beating against her mind with what she would describe as a sledgehammer. Right now it was just her. Well her and Nancy – but Nancy was a Familiar, more cat than human in every sense, and all he thought about was sleep and food, and had an overall annoyance about everyone and everything; though sometimes he would throw in a surge of affection towards Wendy.

Wendy heard the front door jingle open and sluggish thoughts fluttered into her mind about how Claire Sesston could talk the ear off any patient listener, but made a fantastic cobbler.

"Wendy?" Grams called tiredly from down the hall.

"In tha' kitchen," Wendy replied just as loudly, turning around to fish another mug from the cabinet above her.

Grams' footsteps could be heard coming down the hall before she appeared in the archway and made her way over to Nancy, trying to give the cranky familiar a scratch, but only to have him quickly dart away.

"Ungrateful cat," Grams muttered with pursed lips while she sat at the table. "How was y' day, darlin'?"

The kettle whistled before Wendy could give her reply. She quickly turned off the gas and poured the boiling water into the two awaiting cups, fixing them up to both Wendy's liking and her grandmothers. And then, finally, settling herself at the table; giving Grams a sleepy smile.

Eleanor Barrois was a woman of fifty-five with the same dark golden blonde hair that she shared with her granddaughter except for the fact that it was streaked with grey. Smile lines creased her face around her mouth, and crow's feet crinkled the edge of her eyes, but she was no less beautiful – her face still holding the youthfulness from her earlier years.

"Not s'bad," Wendy answered drowsily, while wrapping her hands around the yellow mug full of tea. "I made'ah new friend."

"Oh?" Grams' eyes twinkled with interest as she took a swig of her own hot beverage. "Well, y' gonna' tell me?"

"Hmm," Wendy hummed while sipping her hot beverage. "He's new t'town." she admitted in that quiet way of hers. She was reluctant to give Gabriel's name, and giving Grams his actual name seemed in violation of his trust that he unknowingly bestowed upon Wendy, so she decided that his new name was the way to go. "Gigi."

The blonde was met with silence, and when she glanced up at her grandmother, a look of bewilderment was upon her features as shock that wasn't her own rocked Wendy's body; her stomach flipping, making her a little queasy. She shot her grandmother a questioning look before the walls around her grandmother's mind went up in a haste.

"What's wrong?" Wendy questioned softly, watching Grams frown down at her tea; her wrinkled hands clutching the mug so tightly that Wendy thought it might break.

"Nothin' darlin'." Grams smiled tightly with words of silver and midnight blue, which was followed by a sigh, "jus' been'ah real long day."

Wendy withheld the need to call her grandmother out on her obvious lie and Eleanor Barrois knew it too, not meeting her granddaughter's eyes and taking another swig of her tea to keep from further explaining herself. Wendy glanced up at her grandmother, but then quickly darted her eyes away to keep from being caught looking at her and trying to get a read. But Wendy's grandmother was so practiced in blocking Wendy from her emotions and thoughts that it's become an art, which made Wendy envy her grandmothers ability, though remembered that blocking one person was completely different to blocking a few hundred.

"I've made more of tha' tonic, darlin'." Eleanor commented explanatorily, gesturing to the counter top where Wendy found the tiny corked bottles filled with a dark green potion that had been specifically designed to get the blonde to sleep for a max of eight hours each night and was to be taken daily just before she hit the hay. It was the only thing that would allow Wendy to sleep, nothing else would do, and before living with her grandmother she was trapped, trapped in a hospital full of people who didn't understand – couldn't understand – why she wouldn't sleep. Telling everyone and anyone that their voices wouldn't let her didn't help her in the slightest.

But then Eleanor, her grandmother, her savior – had arrived and took her in; gave her back a piece of her sanity with the gift of sleep. Wendy would always be thankful, grateful for her grandmother's kindness.

"Thanks Grams." Wendy smiled, finished her tea and gave her grandmother a swift peck on the cheek before popping up and striding towards the sink to quickly wash her mug.

"Wendy," Grams called for her attention. "There is somethin' I want t' discuss with y'." The young woman dried her hands on the dish towel before turning to face her grandmother, giving her undivided attention.

"Is somethin' wrong?" She questioned softly.

Grams sighed, took a sip of her tea, "There's been four murders in tha' last four weeks. Police think it's got somethin' t' do with Satanists." Eleanor began with her wrinkled hands clasped together. "But it's'ah Valtushard, I'm positive. Heard it on tha' radio earlier today, tha' details they gave about tha' crime scene sounds like'ah specific ritual an'. . . It's not good."

"Oh," Wendy murmured as she tried to absorb the information. "Where have tha' murders been?"

"Chicago, Wisconsin, Atlanta, an' recently; New Orleans." Eleanor informed her granddaughter heavily. "All exactly tha' same – I want'cha t' be cautious, make sure y' don't let y' walls slip."

"'Course." Wendy agreed immediately and crossed the kitchen to sit down beside the older woman again. "We can ward tha' house?" She suggested. "It's'ah little overdue."

"Sounds like'ah plan." Grams smiled with giving Wendy's hand a soft pat before standing up from the table; Grams' worry rolling over the younger woman's body as she left Wendy to her own thoughts.

* * *

 _That's it, that's the beginning. I'd like to know you're thoughts and if I should continue this, I'm conflicted about whether I should or not; I have a few ideas of what I can do with this, especially with Gabriel being gone for, like, eight years. But, tell me what you think!_


	2. Chapter Two: A Great Big World

_Alrighty, I just want to say thank you to the people who left reviews. It means a lot, truly it does. And a shout out to_ chaiwalnuts _for picking up some things in the first chapter that I didn't think anyone would catch onto until a few more chapters. I left a lot of hints there as to how this story will progress as I have done with this chapter, so I'm eager to have peoples theory's thrown my way.  
And many thanks to _TheSilentLady1002 _, c_ haiwalnuts _,_ SilverD15 _,_ Windschatten _,_ LadyWilliams _, and my_ Guest _reviewer for your wonderful comments.  
If you're feelin' kind, leave a review._

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 _"It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog."_  
 _-Mark Twain_

* * *

 **Chapter Quote:** _"I'm thinkin' it's some weird cult shit."_

* * *

They were hunting a witch; they knew that much, but every lead always came to a dead end. In all honesty it was starting to grate on Dean's nerves – he didn't understand why this time it was so difficult to gank the son of a bitch. Five weeks of this bullshit, with five bodies and absolutely nothing. Every time they got close, it was like the bastard knew and would just pack up and leave.

And Dean . . . well, he needed to kill something — something that was real nasty; something that made his skin crawl, something that challenged him – to fill his head with only thoughts of getting the job done, leaving no room for anything else. Because otherwise he'd have to deal with the chaotic thoughts running around in his mind; thoughts that only he had privy to. Like the weirdo trench coat guy that claimed he was 'An Angel of the Lord' and the one to pull him from the fiery depths below; the dude terrified him a little. And the memories of the rack that haunted his every waking moment; repulsive nightmares that were a mixture of truth and imagination disturbed his sleeping mind. It was starting to make Dean twitchy; itching to take down a big baddie so he could feel like he was doing something right, something good. Maybe then he'd be able to look at himself in the mirror longer than five seconds; to look upon his reflection and truly like what he saw – what he's become.

Dean knew that Sam knew that something was up. How could there not be? He came back from the dead – from hell . . . but Dean wasn't ready to talk about it, told Sammy that he didn't remember; he didn't think he'd ever be ready to confess to the unspeakable things he did to those souls while he was down below. He always thought that he'd be able to hold out, that when others would have given in, Dean would be a mountain that refused to be moved. He was so fucking naïve, so completely and undeniably fucking naïve. Thirty years of that bullshit torture routine and he caved. It infuriated him; made his head pulse with rage every time he thought about it.

More than anything he was terrified that this wasn't real. That Sammy sleeping in the passenger seat beside him was some new form of torture Alistair had conjured up, that at any second he would be pulled from the happiness and flung straight back to the rack with the sensation of his flesh being peeled slowly away from his body; being forced to watch the skin rip with nothing but the fingertips of whatever fucker that was assigned to him at that time – shredding the flesh away from his person at an agonisingly slow speed, and falling away in bloody ribbons before his eyes.

Dean gave his head a slight shake as if he could physically remove the nausea that swirled in his stomach while trying to rid his mind of the thoughts, push them to the furthest corners of his mind. He knew that they'd come crawling back in about twenty minutes, they always did. But he wanted a clear head, even if it was only for a little while. The eldest Winchester brother pulled into the junk yard, coming to a stop in front of the old and thoroughly lived in home of Bobby Singer. Being here made him calmer, made the tension in his shoulders loosen; felt like he could finally catch his breath after holding it for too long for fear of drowning in the sea of suffocating memories and emotions.

"Up an' at 'em, Sammy!" Dean shouted as he clamped a hand down upon his brothers shoulder and shook roughly, watching his younger sibling jump into a sitting position – looking around wildly for danger; his hair a mess and clothes wrinkled.

"C'mon, man." Sam huffed slightly, pulling his lips down into a frown and giving Dean his best glare. A raspy chuckle escaped his throat while he watched Sam rub the sleep from his eyes, mumbling about something that Dean couldn't quite catch; so he left Sam to his complaining to hop out of the car, and headed towards the porch; hearing the slam of the car door behind him.

Dean didn't knock, he never did; not with Bobby anyway because he knew he was welcome here, hell – the only place he'd always be welcomed without a doubt. And he found Bobby where he always found him; sitting at his desk surrounded by old musty books and a glass of whisky in hand.

"Hey Bobby," Dean greeted half-heartedly, smile not quite reaching his eyes, trying not to let on to how tired he truly was. "We've got something, and we need help."

It was all he had to say to get Bobby's undivided attention. He still wasn't used to that, Dad never did that – Dean didn't think John Winchester knew how to turn his mind away from the job, even in the end it was always about the one job: get the thing that killed mum.

The eldest brother turned away from Bobby who was watching on in concerned interest and headed towards the kitchen, pried open the fridge to grab two beers and passed one to Sam who had finally made an appearance; placing himself at the small kitchen table. Dean cracked the bottle open hearing the fizz as he pocketed the cap before leaning heavily against the counter top to take a deep gulp of the amber liquid that instantly gave his body a soothing chill.

"I still think we should be focusing on this angel guy." Sam directed at Dean before Bobby could question what they needed help with. Sammy just couldn't leave it be, kept at him like he would finally cave under Sam's constant nagging. Dean was already shaking his head – no – before his younger sibling had finished talking, he did not want to focus on the angel guy; didn't want to acknowledge the angel guy, wanted the angel guy to go back to wherever the hell he came from – because angel guy could be a demon guy for all they knew. "Well tell me what else it could've been?

"All I know is that I was groped by an angel." Dean retorted with his jaw clenched as he stepped forward in frustration, but changed his mind and leaned back against the counter again; fidgeting with the bottle in his hands. He didn't want to talk about it unless Sammy was going to start agreeing with him.

"Oh, c'mon Dean, why would this Castiel lie to you?" Sam didn't get it. He wanted this to be a good thing; Dean guessed that Sam needed it to be a good thing. But it never was, it was always something bad or led to something bad. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, they would end up shit creek without a paddle.

"Maybe he's some kind of demon?" Dean threw out vaguely, grasping at straws. "Demon's lie."

"A demon that's immune to salt rounds, and devil traps, and Ruby's knife!" Sam listed off in protest, watching as his brother picked up a cold slice of pizza that sat untouched on the counter, sniffed the food before throwing it back in the box and pulled a sour face like it had personally offended him. "Dean, _Lilith's_ scared of that thing." He continued to argue fiercely, trying to get Dean to open up to the idea that angels could be the good guys.

"Don'cha' think if angels were real," Dean started, watching as Sam rolled his eyes at the condescending tone; tongue darting out to wet his lips as he became more impatient with Dean – who chose to ignore his brother's antics and pressed on. "Some _hunter_ , _somewhere_ would have _seen_ one. At _some_ point. _Ever_."

Sam grinned sardonically, "Yeah. _You_ just did Dean."

Dean huffed a little, rubbing his palms against his jean covered thighs in frustration before coming off the counter and gesturing to himself, "I'm tryin' to come up with a theory here, okay," Sam gave another eye roll that made Dean want to smack him upside the head if he did it again. "Work with me."

"Dean, we have a theory–"

He cut Sam off before he could start, "Yeah, one with a little _less_ fairy dust on it, please."

"Look, I'm not saying that we know for sure," Sam countered with raised brows, weariness leaking into his voice. "I'm just saying that I think–"

"Okay, okay, okay." Dean interrupted the younger sibling once more. "That's the point, we don't know for sure." He gestured in annoyance, trying to get Sam to at least listen to reason. He didn't understand why Sam was so ready to jump on the angel bandwagon. "I'm not going to believe that this thing is a freakin' _angel_ of the Lord because it _says_ so!"

"Do you two chuckle heads wanna' keep arguing religion or do you wanna' talk about those murders?" Bobby barked impatiently, his voice gruff as always and took a long swig of the whisky unflinchingly – not even a blink. He regarded the brothers through squinted eyes, daring them to continue their argument.

"Uh, yeah." Sam agreed and felt a little scolded by the older hunter; like he was ten years old again. His brow creased as he pushed up from the chair and made his way over to Bobby, Dean following close behind.

Dean knew that Sam wanted him to view the whole angel thing as a jolly good time, but he couldn't. It rubbed at him the wrong way; like Castiel himself was running a cheese grater up and down his arm repeatedly. It was fishy, hella' fishy; quite frankly he just wanted to sweep the whole incident under the rug and forget it ever happened, because if there were angels, there was a god – and that freaked him out more than demons will ever again, because why would God give a rats ass about him? It creeped him out.

But more importantly Dean wanted to know everything about the case they were trying to work; knew Sam was just as frustrated as his older brother. Five people had died because of this witch and they couldn't catch them, every time they got close the bastard was gone without a trace – the only clue was another horribly disfigured body that looked to be mummified; the head cleanly severed from the body with the chest slashed open; skin and flesh neatly pulled away from the sternum, and the mediastinum finely cut to pull apart the ribs, exposing the heart and lungs – only the body was missing those two important organs.

It was gory, that was for sure. Dean had definitely seen worse, way worse; but it was creepy – especially with the overly complicated symbols strategically painted in blood on the ground around the victim. It was some serious crap this particular witch was meddling with.

Sam gave Dean a side glance, which pretty much meant that the conversation about angels wasn't over. It was quiet for a moment between the three before Bobby grumbled something neither of the brothers could catch and continued on louder for them to hear. "You're dealin' with a Valtushard." Bobby informed the two young hunters as if they should've known as soon as they saw the first body.

Dean's brow furrowed, lips stretching and mouthing the word out before trying to pronounce it. "Volta . . . Vulteh– what?"

Bobby would've found the whole thing comical if he didn't think the two were being idiots. "A Valtushard." The aged hunter sounded the word out like he would for a three year old: Val-too-chard. He only received two bewildered looks in return. Bobby grunted before taking another swig of the whisky, noticed that there was only a little left so he downed the rest, and then quickly refilled his glass; placing the bottle back down beside the book he was reading about those winged dorks before being interrupted. "A type of witch. The ritual that's being used is a soul spilt – specifically to separate a witch's power from their soul."

Dean wasn't surprised Bobby knew what they were hunting or what the witch was up to, no – it was something else entirely. "Wait, wait. Type of witch? The hell does that mean?" Dean demanded. There was only one type of witch, the demon dealing kind and that was that; no if's no buts, no coconuts.

"You got three types," Bobby started, going straight into teacher mode as he held up three fingers. "Number one: Borrowers, someone who deals with demons for mojo – common, ones that you're used to dealin' with. Number two: Students, someone who studies witchcraft, but don't got a lot of mojo. Number Three: a Valkaras, a natural born witch." Sam opened his mouth, ready to fire off and ask the necessary questions, but Bobby powered through; he knew Sammy too well. "And a Valtushard is a Valkaras gone nuclear – they steal power by hunting other natural witches; the murders are all part of the ritual."

Dean scoffed, opened his arms in a shrug before clapping his hands together.

"Okay, so then why have we never dealt with a Valkaras?" Sam interjected before Dean could start poking holes in Bobby's lesson.

"Because their typically known as 'White Witches'. Good guys. And because most hunters," he gestured towards the brothers. "Assume that every witch they come across is bad news, so they stay under the radar."

" _So_ ," Dean dragged out the word as he concluded, taking a seat on the couch. "Dead guy number five is a Valkaras? And he got the mojo sucked outta' him?" Bobby grunted his agreement as he gave the eldest brother a withering look over his whisky glass for the attitude. Dean couldn't help it, honestly – he had been hunting for too damn long to not know this already, so it must be bullshit. Dean had never met a witch that didn't want to screw him or his brother over; they were all power hungry nut jobs. On the other hand, it was Bobby, and Bobby didn't make shit up.

"Alright, so how do we find the Velta– you know?" Sam fumbled the word as he took a seat beside his brother, taking in the information while fiddling with the cap from the bottle of beer in his hand that remained full.

"Can't do that without another witch."

"Well that's just _spiffy_ ," Dean grumbled, sarcasm dripping from his tone. His frustration and aggravation came bubbling to the surface, and he fought the urge to get up and start pacing. "I'll just call up Glinda and we'll be right to go."

"If your drop the attitude, I can give you the name and address of a friendly." Bobby scolded sternly, brows lowered over his eyes. He was well beyond annoyed with the older sibling's attitude.

Dean heaved a sigh, "Sorry man, long day." Bobby gave a nod, acknowledging the apology. Of course Bobby had no idea how weighty those words were, but Dean was sure he could take a guess.

"Her name's Eleanor Barrois. An old friend," Bobby informed them as he grabbed a pen and paper to quickly scribble down the address. "You be respectful or she'll light your ass on fire." He received only raised eyebrows.

"Why would she help us?" Sam questioned, stretching his legs out in front of himself while leaning back into the cushion of the couch, and finally taking a small sip of beer. "You said they like to keep on the down-low."

"Because a Valtushard killed her daughter," Bobby informed the duo and stood from his seat to stride over to a pile of messy books in the corner of the room, picking one seemingly from random and paging threw it; looking for whatever it was he was looking for. "Never did catch them though."

"Where can we find her?" Dean sounded off after he skulled the rest of the amber liquid.

"Louisiana."

* * *

" _Police are askin' for any information that could lead t' tha' arrest of Satan's Killer; tha' serial killer that 'as been terrorizin' our country for tha' last five weeks, an' has now murdered five people; most recently Victor Forman of Beaumont. This is Steven Connor an' y' listenin' to 96.4 fm._ " The radio hosts raspy voice trailed off with the beginnings of a Chris Isaac song filling the space of the small diner.

"Well fuck, another body." Daniel muttered, his words laced with orange as he leaned against the counter beside Wendy as she sat upon the bar stool, and ate the breakfast Marco had ready for her when she walked in for the five o'clock morning shift. Wendy glanced at the tall man with the honey locks and blue eyes.

Wendy had known Daniel Cox since she was eleven years old, he was the very first friend she had made when she had begun living with her grandmother, told her she was weird upon their first meeting during lunch in the school yard after she told him that it wasn't his fault his father hit his mother, and offered one of the banana muffins Grams had packed her – Danny followed the insult up with how more people should be like her. He figured out pretty soon after that just how weird she was, and defended her whenever he thought he needed to.

"That's'ah naughty word, Danny." Wendy scolded half-heartily after swallowing a mouth full of scrambled eggs, watching the man beside her pop his knuckles before flexing them.

"They gave tha' fuckin' guy ah name, Wendy." Daniel ignored the blonde's chiding tone. "Jesus Christ, yea – 'cause that'll help 'em catch tha' fucker." Daniel sat down forcefully on the bar stool next to Wendy, chewing his thumb nail in thought.

"I guess they do it t' make it less scary." Wendy attempted to sooth the aggravated man with words instead of invading his feelings and manipulating his emotions, she had enough of doing that lately and she didn't want to invade the privacy of one of the very few friends she had.

"What?"

Wendy realised her words must have confused him, seeing as his brow was scrunched while his eyes became squinty. "Well, give somethin' ah name an' it sounds less scary. Gives people ah false sense of security, they think they know what they're up against if they know tha' name of that somethin'."

"Yea, I guess." Daniel huffed out a long breath, irritation still coursing through his body, but less so now after her words. "Let's hope they catch tha' guy soon."

Wendy hummed in agreement. She was worried, maybe even a little scared. Grams had clashed with a Valtushard along with Wendy's mother, Selene, while she was still a child – it was how Selene died. And it made Wendy anxious – made her want to scratch at her wrists, drag her fingernails along the inside of the pale skin to stop herself from thinking about the gruesome murders and the person who caused the horrifying acts. Focusing on the pain made it easier to breathe, made it easier to not let those thoughts swirl inside her mind and disturb her throughout the day. It didn't help that everyone else was thinking about it too – that they felt frightened and nervous; paranoid even.

Grams had had what Wendy could only describe as a meltdown two days ago and began warding the old farmhouse for the second time along with the property that surrounded it. Wendy had walked into the home after a long shift at the diner late on Friday night, and was greeted by an aggravated Nancy whom darted from under the couch in the sitting room and crouched lowly behind Wendy; hiding.

Wendy had let the walls come down to touch her mind with Nancy's, the familiars memory invading her head like a fog – watching Grams hurry around in the basement surrounded by bookshelves, jars, papers, and ingredients; it was a mess with books scattered across bench tops and tables. Eleanor's hair was a tangle of curls, sticking up in every direction as if she were constantly running her hands through it; Wendy was proven right as she watched her grandmother do just that.

The sleeves of her grandmother's silk blouse had been rolled up to the elbows, wrinkled beyond perfection and blotted with various stains that Eleanor Barrois would have never let happen under normal circumstances. Grams was flicking through the pages of an old tome that looked too fragile to touch before growling out in frustration and flinging the object across the room. The reaction alarmed Wendy. It was troubling seeing her grandmother in so much distress.

Wendy shooed the memory away to rub at her face tiredly. Giving Nancy an appreciative scratch behind his ears, the young blonde had made her way further into the house and towards the kitchen, finding the door to the basement unlocked and wide open with countless different smells coming from the room below. Wendy's soft footfalls creaked on the fifth step down like it always did, no matter how lightly she stepped. The basement was a well-lit decent sized room with the walls painted white and hardwood flooring. Shelving with books and other odds and ends lined the walls, along with a stove top in the far corner of the room which had something boiling in the massive pot that sat upon it. And at the centre of the room was a large island topped with a thick sheet of oak – which had a scattered assortment of things sprawled over it.

That was where Wendy found her grandmother. Anxiety filling up her entire being, making it difficult to breathe, like having a golf ball stuck in her throat. The feeling was over whelming – so Wendy pushed the emotion down forcefully, putting effort into reaching out with a wave of clam that washed over her grandmother; feeling sweat beginning to appear across her brow as she fought the urge to let her walls collapse and accidentally pry into Grams' mind after a too long day at the diner.

"Grams?" She had called softly, watching as the older woman straightened from her hunched over form; visibly more relaxed than before. "Is everythin' okay?"

Grams heaved a long sigh before turning to face her granddaughter, "No, honey. It's not." Eleanor's tired eyes regarded Wendy wearily as she tried to brush the wrinkles out of her blouse, but gave up after realising it was pointless. "Tha' killin's gettin' closer. Too close an' y' magical signature will be sniffed out . . . been tryin' t' find'ah spell or ah potion t' dampen it . . . even considered findin'ah talisman. Hex bag won't be strong enough."

Wendy wrung her fingers together; a nervous habit that even the hospital couldn't get out of her as she tried to not let her mind drift away from her grandmothers words. "We could make somethin' from scratch? Might be more powerful."

"We'll have t', it'll take time though." Eleanor puffed up her cheeks as she placed her hands upon her hips, and exhaled loudly. "I'm'ma make some calls – for ingredients."

Wendy didn't know how to comfort her grandmother without the use of her powers; her head felt too heavy to assist for too long and her walls were starting to melt-down into paste; letting in the thoughts and emotions of close by neighbours – whispering in her mind and shivering through her body. She just didn't know the right words to say to ease the stress that the older woman felt at that time. So Wendy offered her grandmother the only thing that could help – even if it were only a little bit, "Tea? Lavender perhaps. It'll clam ya' down." She gave Eleanor a dreamy smile as the cracks in her walls began to show. "Then we can start brainstormin' together, idea's will start flashin' like lightenin'," She laughed breathily at her little joke, completely missing the look of heartbreaking concern on her grandmother's face. "an' we'll make some lists, I like makin' lists. Like makin' the bullet points evenly spaced as little stars." Wendy turned on her heel, humming a tune while doing so and left the older woman in the underground room, taking the calm that she just managed to project with her – leaving Eleanor to feel cold and alone in the too big room.

Wendy had noticed that after that night her grandmother had started to try and repress her emotions, kept the walls up around her mind so Wendy couldn't even grasp a stray thought. Perhaps her grandmother thought she was easing the strain on Wendy, but she couldn't ignore the fact that Eleanor's blocking was because she was scared. She had never seen her grandmother scared; angry, sad, happy – but never scared. And that in turn made Wendy terrified, began to make her jumpy more than usual; startling at small noises or a person suddenly speaking – even the drifting thoughts that managed to pierce her mind.

She had also taken it upon herself to listen in on the thoughts of her customers. It made her feel sick with guilt at the invasion of privacy she was using upon these unsuspecting citizens, but she felt it necessary. Wendy mostly tuned into the officers or the Sheriff, even the wandering drifters that were just passing through. Sometimes the drifters were what Grams called Hunters – people who track down and kill the dangerous creatures that lurked in the darkness of the world. Wendy kept away from them, they were a good information source, but no less dangerous – especially with the warnings her grandmother instilled into her when she was younger. There was an older gentleman a day ago that came through; a hunter whom was looking into the same murders that had Grams worried. He was flirting pretty heavily with Joyce and gave her the name Charles, when in reality it was Rufus. Wendy didn't tell Joyce that though; hunters often gave fake names, and Rufus wasn't looking to hurt anyone that wasn't hurting someone else.

"I'm thinkin' it's some weird cult shit." Marco cut into the conversation – bringing Wendy out of her own head as he came out from the kitchen with a tea towel draped over his shoulder, and his dark curls pulled back away from his face in a small bun that sat at the nape of his neck. He was dressed casually in a white shirt that showed the lower half of the Aztec-like tattoo that covered his left arm.

Daniel eyed Wendy with concern before turning his attention to his partner, "Awh yea," Danny grinned, raising his brows at Marco. "An' whys that?"

"Well, the murders are all the same but in different parts of the country. A cult sounds better than just one person." Marco suggested as if that was the most logical answer. He tinkered around the coffee pot before pouring himself a mug and adding cream.

"Could jus' be'ah person catching ah plane." Danny countered with a smirk, knowing it would irritate his lover.

Marco scoffed, raising an eyebrow at Danny as he leaned over the counter top towards the blonde man. "Puh-lease, way too expensive."

"We won't know until they catch tha' person." Wendy chimed in before the debate could turn into an argument, feeling Marco step up to the challenge Danny presented before quickly fading due to Wendy's input.

Marco took a gulp of the bitter liquid, leaned away from Danny and pointed a finger at Wendy, "They didn't catch the Zodiac Killer."

"Y' such'ah downer." Danny scolded which only had Marco flipping him off before trotting off into the office down the hall, Danny watching him go with hooded eyes attached to his dark jeaned bottom. "He watches _way_ too many crime shows."

Wendy hummed happily as Danny's emotions filled her with warmth. "Y' _looove_ him." She sang happily as she cleared her plate of food, standing from the stool and collecting her dishes to bring them to the kitchen for Jeffery.

She stepped out of the kitchen, letting the door swing close behind her as she grabbed her notepad from the counter to place it into her apron pocket, looking up at the sound of the chime the bell above the door made to see her Mr. Glowy. To say she was surprised was an understatement, it had been five days since she last saw him, and while Wendy was disappointed – she had shrugged it off thinking he was another drifter just passing through; someone who had caught her interest, but wouldn't be seen again.

Gabriel threw the blonde a grin before he swaggered off to the very same seat he occupied days ago. Her thick brows creased as she watched him with silver eyes. Wendy brought down her walls to reach out to read him, but was meant with something solid and difficult to penetrate, so she left it be. She was beside his table in a matter of seconds, looking down at his form silently – trying to pick up anything.

"Uh-uh," Gabriel wagged a finger at Wendy, giving her a knowing look. "You won't be getting in here unless I let ya', sunshine." He tapped his temple with his index finger and Wendy couldn't help but pout a little.

"I'm'ma little surprised t' see y' is all," she commented quietly, her eyebrows pulling together. Wendy was still trying to get any whiff of emotion off the man, but it was silent on his end. She sighed, "what can I get y'?"

"When do you get off?" Gabriel countered, clasping his hands together as the door chimed once more – a woman entering, pulling off her hat to slap it against her thigh, muttering about something – and grinning when he noticed Wendy's eye twitch a little in irritation that wasn't her own.

"At lunch." She said briskly, gave her head a little shake to rid the hat slapping woman's agitation from her body; reinforcing the walls around her mind so it wouldn't happen again anytime soon.

"Great, we'll go for lunch."

"What if I'm busy?" Wendy retorted softly, but not unkindly; her head tilting slightly to the right, regarding him with those enchanting silver eyes he was so absorbed by.

"Are you?" He cocked a brow at her.

"No."

"Then lunch it is," Gabriel declared as he jumped up from his seat, startling Wendy a little, watching while he basically bounced on the spot with his hands stuffed into his pockets. "I'll pick you up out front, sunshine." With that he was off and she wondered why he even sat down to begin with.

She felt Danny tiptoe up behind her munching on some jam covered toast, hearing the crunch as he bit into it, "Who'sthatguy?" He mumbled around the food.

"Gigi," Wendy answered, and slowly turned to face her friend – looking somewhat confused – as Danny shoved the remainder of the toast into his gob; crumbs scattered around his scruffy mouth. "I think he asked me on'ah date."

"Oooh, _Weeeendeeee_ ," Danny sang while watching his tiny blonde friend frown at him; feeling mischievous he quickly spun on his heel and marched off down the hall to the small office shouting, "Marco, guess what!"

Wendy had never been on a date before. Well, that was a lie. Wendy had never been on a good date before. Mainly because people either thought she was too weird to date or they thought she'd be an easy lay due to her weirdness – she didn't understand where anyone would get that from though; it didn't even sound logical to her. She remembered her first and only date, after graduating from high school she had accepted a date from Shaun Havald, it had gone well – he seemed nice enough though his thoughts were mainly focused on guessing her breast size; it was the end of the evening where he tried his luck at pulling over on the side of the road and got handsy (thoughts turning dark, dangerous), no matter how many times she said 'no'. Wendy had sent him to sleep and implanted the fear of sex into his mind, afterwards she made the twenty minute walk home by her lonesome in the dark; she hadn't felt alone though, so that was nice, but as soon as she walked into the old farmhouse she made a beeline for the shower and scrubbed at her skin as if Wendy had even the slightest chance to physically remove the feel of him from her person.

But she had avoided dating since then – a lot of people didn't have kind thoughts, so it made liking someone difficult especially when she'd catch snippets of their thoughts about how good her lips would look wrapped around their cock.

Wendy's shift passed quickly, the hours blurring together as the breakfast rush started at nine and didn't end until eleven. Wendy's feet were sore from standing for a long period of time, numbing a little at her shins, and her head ached from the walls she would let down to listen in for any information about the murders, and then building them back up again and again was making her sleepy. She wondered if she could just go home and sleep or try to at least, maybe Gabriel wouldn't be offended – but no, she wanted answers from the strange man, needed answers. Who was he, what was he? With anyone else it would be so simple to pluck the answers from their mind, but that wasn't possible in this situation because Gabriel was able to block her which has never happened before. Sure, Grams could block Wendy from her thoughts and emotions, but if Wendy pushed hard enough those walls would crumble under the weight of her power.

So Wendy stood in front of the diner, waiting patiently from Mr. Glowy to appear and answer her questions.

"Well, don't you look gorgeous," the Mystery Man himself cooed from beside her; like a mother to a newborn baby or when you see a puppy – like labradoodle puppies; they were just so curly and fun loving. Wendy faced him as his words swirled around her in a bright fluffy pink. "And you're wearing cowboy boots. That's so cute, with your little yellow dress and your little boots. You're just a ray of sunshine."

No one had ever paid that much attention to her clothing choices before – well aside from Grams, but that didn't count. Wendy was automatically filled with a tingling warmth that was all her own; no interference from anyone around her. And for the kind words he bestowed upon her, she gave him her best smile; the one that Pop used to say reminded him of Wendy's mother. Immediately Gabriel grinned, placing his hands into his pockets and cooed at her again. She could have sworn she heard him sigh out an, " _aww babydoll._ " Wendy could feel her face burning; no doubt it was a bright red from his praise.

"Thank ya," Wendy gave him a dreamy smile as she took a step towards him, "it has pockets!" She placed her hands in said pockets as a demonstration. Gabriel gave a laugh then offered his arm and she accepted; placing her hand in the crook of it. "Where're we going?"

"There's a little Chinese restaurant two blocks away, thought we could go there?" Gabriel shrugged as he led her down the main street of the town that was bustling with the townspeople. Wendy noticed a few people eye the two of them – thoughts like _never seen him 'round here before_ or _Heard tha' Dawson girl escaped ah mental hospital_ slithered threw a gap in her shield.

The walk was short and silent. Not that awkward quiet and everything else is loud silent. It was a comfortable silence, and Wendy tended to be a quiet person – she was quite content to be in the company of someone and not ruin the moment with words. Sooner rather than later they were both out the front of the tiny restaurant that Ms. Jones owned. Ms. Jones wasn't a particularly nice person, she was angry all the time and was rude to anyone she came into contact with, but her food was incredible – Wendy knew she was a lonely woman whom had been through three divorces and didn't have the children she so desperately wished for; it was why she was so angry, she was stuck in the mindset of 'if I can't be happy, you can't be happy' – so whenever Wendy had the opportunity to eat out she would come here and compliment Ms. Jones' food; send her little swirls of joy and making her feel relaxed even if it was just for a little while.

Besides, Wendy liked Ms. Jones; liked her brashness and how she refused to filter what she said. Wendy fond it refreshing as St. Francisville was filled with people who were sugar sweet to your face, but said awful things behind your back. But Ms. Jones wasn't from the south, didn't have those mannerisms ingrained into her, so she told you like it was; didn't like to sugar coat her words or beat around the bush – and so Wendy looked up to the older woman a little for not breaking under the pressure of the small towns social rules.

Gabriel opened the door for the young blonde woman with a dramatic sweeping gesture of his arm, sending Wendy a flirty wink as she entered the restaurant. Today she would find out why he was so familiar, wouldn't let him dance around it like their last conversation; she wanted answers and she was determined to get them.

No matter how vexing she had to be.

* * *

 _Okay, here it is. Oh god, I have no idea if it's good or if Gabriel is in character! I don't know and I'm stressing a little about it.  
As always reviews would be appreciated; they keep me writing._


	3. Chapter Three: Ode to Sleep

_Okay, third chapter. This one is mainly backstory, we get to see a little more of Wendy's history, and Gabriel will appear in this chapter as well. We're slowly starting to get into the plot now. I'm thinking maybe one more chapter and then Wendy will be meeting Sam and Dean._  
 _I also want to let you guys know that this is a slow burn. Gabriel and Wendy are both clearly attracted to one another (and not just in the physical sense either), but Gabriel will be holding back for a while, and Wendy's never been in love before so we'll stumble along with her._  
 _I haven't had a chance to really check this over for mistakes because I wanted to get this posted, so please ignore them._

 _ **Warning:** This chapter may trigger some people. It's by no means graphic, but I felt I should put a warning here anyway._

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

 _"The scientists of today think deeply instead of clearly. One must be sane to think clearly, but one can think deeply and be quite insane."_  
 _-Nikola Tesla_

* * *

 **Chapter Quote:** _"Wow . . ."_

* * *

 **1991 Shreveport, Louisiana**

"We need to do _something_ , Malcolm!" Katherine stressed as she stood before her husband, arms folded tightly across her chest and looking down at the dining table where Malcolm Dawson's hunched over form was sat with his head cradled in his hands. "She's not sleeping," Kathy continued on in a harsh whisper, brushing her dark corkscrew curls from her face in annoyance as they fell into her eyes once again; she was kicking herself for cutting it so short. "Telling me that the voices in her head are keeping her up. It's not normal – she told me that Ryan Hiddstien likes to touch his daughter. Wendolyn is _five years old_ , Malcolm! She shouldn't know about any of that—that _stuff_!"

It was creepy in all honesty. Creepy how Wendy knew things she shouldn't. Creepy how she told Kathy that people glowed – most were blue, some purple, other's black, and on rare occasions a white gold. Creepy how Kathy would wake in the middle of the and find her step-daughter wandering around the house in the dark humming whatever little tune that struck her fancy at the dead of night. Creepy how Wendy told her that voices whispered to her at all times, that they were hard to ignore; telling her secrets that Wendy tended to blurt out loud. Kathy had seen plenty of horror movies, and it took everything in her whenever she found Wendy roaming not to start reciting from the bible or pegging the book at the child. It was hard because Kathy loved that girl like she was her own, but by the Lord did Wendy scare the shit out of her at times.

"What do'ya _want_ me t' do, Kathy?" Malcolm fired back, running a hand through his short blonde hair before lifting his head up to glare at his second wife. He was just as worried as she was, couldn't understand where his little girl was getting all this information from about their neighbours and friends; and to find out that some of it was true merely three hours beforehand with two police officers coming to their door to question his child about Ryan Hiddstien (and to see if he had harmed Wendy in any way) was terrifying to Malcolm; especially when his five year old went into great detail about how much the disturbed man liked to think about doing those things to a child – how often he did it. How Lily would cry afterwards, how her friend didn't like it – was scared and confused.

"I don't know," Kathy replied while pulling out the dining chair and sat down with a heavy sigh, resting her hand upon Malcolm's. They were both in shock, Ryan had been a friend – Wendy had stayed with them every so often and Kathy would continually shiver violently, stomach rolling whenever she thought about how much time Wendy spent with the man and his family; thinking about how it could of easily have been her step-daughter. "I just know she needs help . . . she's dead on her feet, honey."

"I know," Malcolm rubbed at his face tiredly then turned his gaze to Kathy, steel blue eyes meeting chocolate brown. "Maybe I can find one of those kid shrinks or somethin'."

"Can I hav'ah yohgurt?" Wendy's tiny voice startled the both of them. They both turned to find the small girl in the doorway holding the nasty looking orange cat that was too big to be held; it had a sour look on its face as if it were silently judging the married couple while a rumbling purr escaped his furry form once Wendy scratched his face. Why they allowed the stray to stay was beyond Kathy, but Wendy had been very convincing and had too easily persuaded her parents into letting her keep it.

"Of course you can, baby." Kathy smiled and stood from her seat.

They needed to get help. Kathy needed to get Wendy help, because doing nothing wasn't the solution.

* * *

Wendy sat across from Gabriel, hands folded neatly on the table as she watched him take a pull on the straw of the chocolate milkshake he had just ordered, her own strawberry one sitting untouched in front of her. Lunch had gone well, at least that was her opinion on it, aside from the fact that Gabriel was outright ignoring her attempts to pry information out of him; smoothly shifting the conversation in a completely different direction without her noticing for a time. She was being polite about her prying too, not once did she attempt to brush her skin against his own to try and establish a link, not that she would do that – she'd feel too guilty if she did; would probably apologise repeatedly for doing it, she felt like apologising now for even contemplating it.

"What's on your mind, sunshine?" Gabriel broke the silence between the two with his question, raising a brow as he took a long slurp from the straw. Wendy couldn't help but narrow her silver eyes at the being before her. She was certain that he knew what was on her mind.

Wendy let her irritation go as she finally sipped at her own strawberry milkshake. She flicked her eyes up and met Gabriel's gaze head on. "I've seen other's glow like y' do, not'ah lot – just'ah few." She stated softly, keeping her eyes locked on his, refusing to let him go. When she didn't get a response from him (not that she thought she would), Wendy wanted to keep pestering him; like a pesky tiny fly, buzzing around near his ears – the annoying hum gradually grating on his nerves until he told her what she wanted to know.

Her mind took hold of the idea and began to wander off, twisting and twirling about Mr. Glowy and what he could possibly be. Perhaps he was a faerie, did faeries even glow? Wendy had never had the privilege of meeting one – maybe if she were to seek one out she could question it about Gabriel, but then that seemed a little shady to go behind his back like that. A thought suddenly flashed into her mind, like lightening striking her brain, she vaguely wondered if a light bulb appeared above her head and if Gabriel had noticed such a thing (a quick glance up only showed her that he was firmly invested in his milkshake) – but the thought! What was it again? It had strolled away in her musings, no, wait, there it was; could Gabriel hurt her and could she hurt him if it came to that? It was a logical thing to wonder about, so logical that Wendy didn't know why she hadn't thought about it before. But first she'd have to figure out what he was; from there it would be rather simple to find out what could harm him – not that she would want to.

Wendy blinked and her eyes became focused again, fixating again on Gabriel who watched her almost attentively, "Would it hurt if I hit y'?"

Gabriel gave a surprised little chuckle, lips stretching as he regarded her with what she thought were fond eyes. "Questions, questions," but Gabriel didn't look annoyed, just amused, like he was waiting for her to straight up and ask him bluntly instead of tip toeing around it like she was earlier. " _Nope_ , probably not the best idea though."

Wendy's head titled to right just a little, "Why?" She inquired, blinking owlishly. "Y' gonna' hit me back?" The blonde gave him a once over, raking her eyes up and down his form. He didn't look like he could be dangerous or frightening, though there was something there, lingering just below the surface remaining doormat, that felt dangerous; powerful – and when pushed would undoubtedly show itself. Wendy could see it in the way he moved, the way he held himself, he tried to cover it with flirting and jokes, but it was still there. "Have y' ever, y'know . . . _killed_ anyone?"

Gabriel threw his head back as he outright laughed. He chortled for a good minute, and when he recovered he only grinned at Wendy, a glint in his eye – and Wendy had her answer; yes he had and no, she still wasn't scared. Gabriel's straw made that little chocking noise that informed him that the milkshake-y goodness was gone, he frowned down at the tall glass and then took a peek at her own; he pulled Wendy's milkshake towards himself and took a long pull from the straw, making Wendy purse her lips in mild annoyance with furrowed eyebrows.

"Listen sunshine," he slid the half full glass back in front of her. "I'm only here to check up on ya'."

Wendy immediately frowned at his words. "I . . ." She trailed off, not really knowing what to say. Why on earth would this unknown ever need to check up on her? "I don't understand."

Gabriel eyed the blonde for a few seconds, his eyes becoming squinty as if he were assessing her. His eyebrows rose after a moment as he finally came to some sort of conclusion. "Wow . . ." He dragged the word out and left it hanging in the air for a bit while sucking on his molar; looking mildly annoyed. "You really don't remember do'ya? Thought it might've clicked once the whole ' _Gigi_ ' thing came up. Unless witchy granny decided to go extreme . . ." He trailed off, muttering the last part.

"I still don't—"

"You and I, we _know_ each other." Gabriel cut in querulously, leaning forward on the table and Wendy felt the need to do the same; drawn to him once again, like a moth to a flame. The air around them suddenly becoming tense and serious, making Wendy's skin prickle at the energy that shimmered and shivered around the both of them. "Think about it, how much do you remember from the loony-bin they _dumped_ you in?"

Wendy sucked in a sharp breath, trying to swallow around the lump that formed in her throat. That was something she didn't want to think of, but it was something he couldn't possibly know either – unless they did know each other. Her palms began to sweat as panic started to set in. She barely remembered the hospital, she knew she didn't like it, knew that whatever memories she did have she didn't like thinking about them. Knew that the smell of antiseptic conjured up memories she wanted to forget, knew needles terrified her, and doctor's made her uncomfortable. But mostly that time was blank; those days were mainly black holes of history she couldn't recall – Grams wouldn't do that, not unless something bad happened. Did something bad happen? Now that was all Wendy could thank about, what was so bad that Grams had to plant walls up inside her mind to keep her from remembering? She didn't think she wanted to know.

A large warm hand encased her small boned one and squeezed. Anxious silver eyes met concerned gold.

"We met at tha' hospital." Wendy spoke quietly, a crease forming between thick brows. It wasn't a question, a statement because it was obvious, but she felt the need to have it said aloud.

Gabriel pulled a face, making a see-saw motion with his other hand and shrugged. "Semantics."

"Why would Gra—"

"Don't freak out about it, granny met well, just didn't think she'd do such a thorough job, y'know?" No, she didn't know. Gabriel frowned and chewed at his bottom lip. "They locked you up and threw away the key, seeing me and my fantastic self wasn't doing you any favours. I guess she just got rid of me altogether."

"Okay, but y' were there? Why?"

"I don't think I'm the right guy who should be answering your questions."

"Y' definitely are tha' right guy t' be answerin' my questions." Wendy commented, disliking his evasion. "Why were y' there?"

"Because we know each other."

"That doesn' tell me anythin'."

"I know."

Wendy huffed. Fine, he didn't have to tell her. She would ask Grams, surely she would confess to the memory block she placed upon Wendy's mind, not that Grams could really get away with lying to her anyway. Besides, Wendy wasn't a child anymore; granted she didn't want to remember anything horrible – just wanted to know why Grams saw such an extreme as necessary. Because it was extreme, to go into someone's mind and pick and pull at the pieces you wanted there and the ones you wanted to be locked away; Wendy saw it as a violation.

"What are y'?" Wendy suddenly questioned instead, wanting to turn away from her thoughts.

"Rude," Gabriel commented on her inquiry in an exasperated tone and a roll of his eyes. "You're smart, _you_ figure it out."

"Well, how am I supposed t' do that when y' haven't given any clues?" Wendy shot back at him, irritated by his glibness.

Gabriel raised his brow, "You didn't need clues before." He responded snottily, seeming more annoyed by the fact that he had been wiped from her memory then he had let on before. The man across from her resembled a sulking child in that moment, glaring at the tall glass in front of his person with a tiny pout of his face.

Wendy forced herself not to smile at his display.

Then she remembered. _Burnt gold wings ruffle slightly before settling._

"Y' wings."

Her statement silenced the air between them, and seriousness crept back onto Gabriel's face. He said they were real, she _remembered_ – that's what _he_ said, she _heard_ it. Wendy was expecting him to deny having wings, ready to have him call her crazy for even suggesting such a thing; to tell her it was all in her head – her mind playing tricks again, but she remembered, remembered that he said they were real. But her shoulders tensed anyway, prepared to have Gabriel cut her with sharp words by a silver tongue.

Gabriel ran his tongue along the top row of teeth, "Yep," he said popping the 'P'.

"Are y' fae?" Wendy rushed the question, leaning back towards Gabriel, hands lying flat on top of the small table. She could see him strutting along freely in a meadow with those wings of his trailing him, the sun shining down; making his hair glow in the sunlight with a flower crown placed upon his head. She liked that image and now wanted to go to the florist and buy a bunch of flowers to weave together for him. Perhaps some daises and lavender, magnolias were nice too.

"What?" Gabriel scoffed, his voice bringing her back to the present and she watched his nose wrinkle up like he smelt something bad, while his mouth pulled down into a frown. "I'm a little insulted."

"Oh." Her flower crown day dreams were dashed.

Maybe.

"Guess again, sunshine." Gabriel prompted her, grinning boyishly. "I've got plenty of time."

* * *

 **1993, Shreveport,** **Louisiana**

It was dark, which was understandable because it's always dark at night, especially when you don't turn on the lights; but Wendy didn't want to wake her parents so she kept them off. She should be sleeping, but she couldn't sleep – she had pills to help, but they didn't help. Nothing helped the voices or the feelings – they weren't hers! She wanted them to go away; she wanted everyone around her to keep them locked away inside themselves!

But they didn't, so she stayed awake. It wasn't so bad she supposed – it was quieter at night, because the majority of people were sleeping, so there was some peace for her.

Wendy was currently in the nursery watching baby Miranda sleep. Miranda was still little and couldn't play yet, but Wendy was content with just patiently waiting for her sister to grow up. Wendy thought Miranda was the prettiest little person she had ever seen; she had the same mocha skin tone as Kathy and the same curly hair, but she had her daddy's eyes – Kathy said that they would most likely get darker, but that was okay because Miranda would be just as pretty.

The small blonde girl liked to watch her sister sleep, liked to hold her hand and watch her sisters dreams dance in her mind. Miranda mostly dreamed in colours – faces would pop in every now again, sometimes objects, but mostly colour. It was pretty and calming, and Wendy felt that way until she didn't – because now there was something there that shouldn't be there.

Wendy blinked her eyes, coming out of the haze of the dream and let go of the six month old's hand. Something was wrong, it didn't feel right. It felt dark, and cold, and scary; but Wendy had never been frightened of the dark. There was something there, in the room, Wendy didn't like it – wanted it to leave. She turned away from the cot her sister slept in, her silver gaze meeting an eerie yellow. It was a man, and he grinned at her. He was a man shrouded in black; too dark that it shadowed his features, consumed his very being.

"Y' not allowed t' be in here." Wendy told the man, standing in front of her tiny sister, keeping her voice down so she didn't wake the baby. He felt twisted and pulled, wrong – so very, _very_ wrong; made her skin crawl standing so close to him.

"That's right, but I've got business to attend to." His voice was raspy, attempting to be kind, but he was no such thing. The man was annoyed, Wendy could tell, she could always tell. "You best get to bed."

"No." Wendy lifted her chin just a little in defiance; she wouldn't leave. He was scary, and wicked – and dark. "Go away."

The man took a step closer and crouched down to her level, his alarmingly yellow eyes narrowed; lips pulled back in a snarl. "You _listen_ to me you little brat, you go back to bed or I'll slice mummy and daddy up _real_ good." He gave her a menacing grin after finishing his threat.

The little girl didn't like that – that was naughty. He was naughty, naughty like Lily's daddy. She could feel it, she could hear it – his voice echoing in her mind about how much he would enjoy tearing her annoying self apart. And she knew he would do it, could see how he would do it. To have Kathy lie above Miranda and burst into flames – skin melting and burning as she screamed silently; face twisted in agony. How he would adore causing her family pain – silently pleading for Wendy to ignore him, to continue to defy him; to give him a reason to sink the blade he held in his hand deep into her belly and twist. Wendy decided he was bad. A bad man, who had come to give Randie something. Wendy didn't know what he wanted to give her little sister, but knew that it wasn't anything good.

Wendy leveled her gaze at the man unblinkingly and made him crumple to the ground, his knees thudding against the carpeted floor as he withered in the pain she created; the pain she bestowed upon him, watching him thrash violently on the carpet and gurgling on saliva. Veins straining and rising under the skin of his neck as his back arched uncomfortably on the ground.

"Go away an' don't come back. _Ever_." Her command resonated inside his mind, burrowing deep and planting itself there, and then she watched him vanish in a blink. Gone without a trace.

The door swiftly opened and Kathy stopped short at the sight of Wendy standing in front of the cot. "Wendy, baby." Kathy eyed the little girl. "What are you doing in here? What are you doing up?"

"I was watchin' Randie sleep." Wendy replied easily, quietly as to not wake her sister. "I told tha' man t' go away."

"Man, what man?" Kathy gasped and stumbled into the room, grasping Wendy's shoulders checking her over for any injuries. "Are you okay?"

"He wanted t' hurt me, hurt you an' daddy." Wendy informed her. "But I made him leave, he won't be back."

"Are you sure you saw a man?" Kathy questioned the little girl sceptically. "Maybe you were sleep walking?"

"I wasn't sleepin'."

Kathy swallowed hard, looked around the room before her eyes fell back onto her step-daughter. "Honey, stay with your sister, I'm gonna' wake up daddy."

 **FIVE MONTHS LATER**

"So Wendy, you saw a man in your sister's room?" The lady doctor, who insisted that Wendy call her Sara asked her as soon as her daddy left the room and they settled on the floor of the office colouring with a pack of crayons upon the coffee table. Wendy had decided on drawing her house with herself and her daddy, and Kathy, and Randie – and Nancy too! It was a bright drawing, each one of the figures surrounded in blues, except for Nancy because his was a blue green and Wendy because she purple.

"Mhmm," Wendy hummed her reply as she finished up the final touches of Kathy's curly hair, tongue poking out of the side of her lips in concentration.

"And what did this man want?" Sara asked as she pushed her bright purple cat eye glasses further up her nose, giving Wendy a kind smile when the girl looked up from her drawing. Wendy liked her glasses, wanted a pair of her own also, but Wendy wanted them to be pink and sparkly – so sparkly you could see them from space; have the astronauts think there was a star on earth.

"He wanted t' give somethin' t' Randie, then he wanted t' hurt Kathy." Wendy stated it like it was obvious. "I like y' glasses, do'ya think daddy would let me have glasses?"

Sara looked startled for a moment, eyes widening before she cleared her throat; startled because the little girl hadn't opened up to any of her previous psychologists like this. In fact Wendy had only started seeing this woman for three weeks. "If you couldn't see properly without them, I'm sure he would." Sara paused for a moment, watching the little girl nod thoughtfully then went back to colouring. "Why would this man hurt Kathy?"

"Because he could." Wendy gazed back at the woman, making Sara shift in discomfort. The little girl broke the eye contact, feeling a little bad for making the woman feel uncomfortable.

Sara cleared at throat again, "And what did this man want to do to Kathy?"

Wendy didn't answer for a while, content to start another picture, this one consisting mainly of black with just a hint of yellow. Wendy didn't want to answer, she knew that it would alarm Sara a little, but she had promised her daddy that she would cooperate with the lady. And Sara was nice, she made Wendy feel calm because Sara was quieter than most people, her words weren't slimy like the other doctors. After twenty minutes of silence, Sara didn't expect a reply – thought she had pushed the subject enough for one day.

"He wanted t' burn her." Wendy stated blankly as she looked up from her drawing. "On the ceilin'. It was gonna' be bright, an' hot. Like'ah oven." Sara waited patiently for Wendy to finish her somewhat rambling answer. "But I made him go away. I didn't like him."

The session ended shortly after that and Wendy was made to play in the quiet corner of the office while her daddy and Kathy spoke with the Doctor Sara. Wendy wasn't bothered about that, she liked the toys that had been provided for her, little hotwheels cars in various different colours and some plastic horses was enough to help her imagination start flowing.

"This is only my sixth session with your daughter, but she has gone through five other psychologists within five months, that's a warning sign, Mr. Dawson." Sara spoke firmly, but quietly enough as to not disturb the girl whom happily made car noises as she moved a tiny truck around a horse.

"I'm sorry?" Kathy spoke up, frowning at the woman who sat behind her big oak desk. "'Warning sign'? What the _hell_ does that mean?"

"Wendy isn't stable. Her previous doctors mention this again and again. Yet they did nothing, probably couldn't figure out how to help your daughter so passed her off." Sara tried to explain, irritated with the couple in front of her. "She sees things, hears things. She has a very vivid imagination, too vivid I fear – she doesn't seem to know what's real and what's not. In previous sessions and the one today we've discussed the man inside your other daughters' room; a man with yellow eyes, a man, who once told to leave just disappeared from sight."

"But, what about knowin' thangs about people?" This time it was her daddy that spoke, clutching onto Kathy's hand like a life line.

"Wendy is observant, unusually so for a child, but not unheard of. The conclusion I've come to is that she observes something happening that not many others would notice, and her voices fill in the blanks." Sara sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "Looking over her documents and notes from her previous psychologist's and interacting with her these last few weeks . . . I'm sorry, but I believe your daughter is a sufferer of very early-onset schizophrenia."

"What? No." Malcolm all but demanded, leg bouncing up and down on the fall; ready to jump up at a moments notice and football carry his daughter out of the office. "How can y' be sure?"

"I know it's a lot to take in Mr. Dawson, but the symptoms are clear. I'm having a hard time understanding why your previous doctors didn't tell you." Sara mumbled, she was uncomfortable and didn't like giving bad news. Sara didn't like seeing children struggle when they shouldn't have to. "I believe your daughter is suffering specifically from hallucinations – these usually involve seeing or hearing things that don't exist. Yet for your daughter they are as real as you and I. I've caught her on more than one occasion telling the voices to be quiet."

"Okay . . . then, then what do we do?" Kathy questioned with a shaky voice, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue the doctor handed her. _Is it safe for her to be around Miranda?_ Kathy immediately shut the thought down, guilt drowning her and weighing in the pit of her stomach. _Wendy wouldn't do anything to hurt her baby sister_.

"I'm going to refer you admission to Brentwood Hospital. I know Doctor Larsher and he'll help your daughter in any way he can." Sara gave the couple an encouraging smile as she began to type up the referral to send to the hospital.

"I don't want t' put my kid in tha' _crazy_ house." Malcolm growled, agitated beyond belief. Daddy wasn't happy with the doctor, Wendy didn't understand why though; she was telling him what she believed to be the truth. But Wendy didn't understand half the stuff they were talking about; talking like what she could do was bad. Maybe it was though, she didn't like the voices most times, and people's colours and words sometimes glowed too brightly. She knew people didn't like it when she told a secret she wasn't supposed to know – maybe it was bad.

"I know it seems that way Mr. Dawson, but it is imperative we get to the bottom of this." Doctor Sara clarified, pushing her glasses up once more. "They can run tests, and if I'm correct – help you find the right medication for your daughter to help with her hallucinations."

* * *

"Y' know Gigi." Wendy strode into the kitchen and snatched the kettle from the stove, filled it with water and lit it once it was back in its rightful place. Her voice held no emotion, just detachment, a true tell of her anger that rolled off her person in crashing waves as she tried not to project her emotions onto her grandmother.

Gabriel had dropped her off out the front of the old farmhouse in a sky blue 1965 Coupe DeVille Cadillac that he seemed overly attached to. He didn't say much, probably realising she was mad – and she _was_. Thinking it over in the silence of the car on the way back home gave her time to build her anger. Gabriel was someone she knew from before, someone who cared enough about her well being to check in on her every now and again, and her grandmother took that relationship from her by taking her memories. Wendy relented that Eleanor may have had her reasons, but it still stung.

Eleanor sighed heavily, took the reading glasses off of her nose to rub at her right temple. "Yes." It was all she said before she closed the old dusty book she was reading.

"I told y' about him an' y' said _nothin_ '." Wendy grabbed a yellow mug from the top cabinet and began making herself her usual peppermint tea, her hands shaking slightly in her aggravated state.

"I know."

"Y' put ah block on my mind."

"I _know_." Grams pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Y' took away my memories."

"I _know!_ " Grams snapped and threw her glass down on the small kitchen table.

"I _know_ y'know." Wendy spoke quietly, tensely. "Y' did it without permission, _four years_ of my life are missin' because y' took them."

"I did what I thought was _best_ , Wendolyn!" Grams hissed standing from her seat and whirling around to face her granddaughter. "Y' were so young, an' t' have those memories – those thoughts, an' feelin's 'round y' all tha' time . . . those memories were gonna' _kill ya'_."

Wendy closed her eyes tightly. Perhaps Grams was right about that. What memories she did keep weren't pleasant, they still surfaced in her mind on the days her walls were weak and she couldn't focus on keeping them down and everyone else out. She breathed in deeply, before exhaling.

"Were y' gonna' tell me?" Wendy questioned softly as she opened her eyes at the sound of the kettle whistling, taking it off the heat to make her tea.

" _Of course_ I was." Grams sighed and rubbed at her forehead. The older woman couldn't believe how quickly time flew. She always thought that she would be more prepared for when the truth came out (of course she also thought that she would be the one to tell Wendy). Always thought she would know the right words to say to her granddaughter. But she didn't, she never had a clue. "Would y' like me t' tell y' now?"

"No," Wendy shook her head, dark blonde curls falling messily down her back. She felt too tired and drained for the discussion any more. Wendy only wanted to sleep now, sleep off her anger and come back to the topic at a later time. They had more important things to worry about then her silly memories; it could wait. "Not yet . . . not any time soon."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell y'," Grams placed a small wrinkled hand on her shoulder, Wendy noticed the finely woven bracelet around her grandmother's wrist with a strange pendant she had never seen before. "But I'm not sorry I did it."

* * *

 _A lot of jumping around in this chapter. This is only half of the chapter I had written out, but I didn't want to keep jumping around from past to present so I divided it into two._  
 _Tell me what you think, and if you're feelin' kind leave me a review._  
 _Seriously, they make me write quicker._


	4. Chapter Four: In My Mind

_Thank you to my wonderful reviewers;_ chaiteawalnuts _,_ SilverD15 _,_ Fanfiction20XX _, and my_ Guest _reviewer.  
So fourth chapter! I decided to introduce Sam and Dean into this chapter, its light though and not a real meeting so to say. But I really like this chapter, it was a little uncomfortable to write, but I'm really happy with the outcome and I hope you guys are too.  
If you're feelin' kind, leave me a review. _

_**Warning:** this is a definite trigger chapter (not graphic)._

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

 _"You never know what lurks just beneath the surface of my fragile sanity."_  
 _\- Ashly Lorenzana_

* * *

 **Chapter Quote:** _"It's jus' so nice that y'all came out t' see her. I see her in church every Sunday; she's such'ah sweet o'l thang."_

* * *

"Are you excited to see your parent's tomorrow, Wendolyn?" Doctor Larsher asked from the armchair he was sat in, pen poised over a notepad; waiting patiently for the child's answer.

Wendy sat on her small bed opposite the man, who was of average height with his auburn hair slicked back away from his face. Doctor Larsher was a neat and tidy man, in life and in appearance; liked his face to be shaved, his hair to be cut short and out of his eyes. He also liked matching socks and creaseless shirts. And he was handsome and nice, at the least that's what some of the other staff at the hospital thought.

But he wasn't nice.

It was a mask. A mask he wore well. A mask he showed his colleagues and wife—his son and daughter. He wasn't nice to Wendy, not always—he was nice when he wanted something, nice when he was going to be mean. Say pretty words, give her presents to play with, and then he would turn mean—it would take a while, but it would come; it always did.

"Wendolyn, I asked you a question." Doctor Larsher spoke, breaking the silence in the room after ten minutes of quiet; making Wendy stop her fiddling with the soft plush toy that oddly resembled Nancy; a toy he had given her five minutes after walking into Wendy's small room. "It's only polite to answer."

The seven year old was having a bit of a hard time focusing, which made it difficult to even move her mouth to make words come out; everything was muted from the new pills Doctor Larsher insisted were good for her; adamant that Wendy take the tiny blue pills after she made him feel queasy when he placed his hand on her thigh during their last meeting; that was the fifth time he had done so over ten sessions, and each time she had made him feel like he would vomit. The pills made her sleepy, made the voices fuzzy and hard to hear; made the feelings of others fade in and out—making them too much to ignore at times, but then disappeared completely at others. She didn't like the pills, but was made to take them; the nurses always made her take them even when she said she didn't want to.

"They're not gonna' come." Wendy answered softly and went back to fiddling with the toy cat, pulling lightly at the fluffy ears.

"What makes you say that?" Doctor Larsher was suddenly beside her on the tiny springy bed, sitting too close for her liking, but she hadn't noticed his movement due to her current state. He reached out and plucked the soft toy from her hands. She wanted it back, wanted to have something to cuddle again; the toy cat had made her feel safe for the last few minutes. A hand appeared on her thigh once more, running up then back down to her knee slowly—again and again, dark brown eyes locked onto Wendy's face as he watched her squirm in discomfort. After a moment his lips twitched upwards, eyes lighting up as he came to realise something.

"Because they never do." Wendy's unfocused gaze watched his hand make its path up and down her thigh in morbid fascination, all the while wishing for him to stop.

"Well, if that does happen we'll be doing more tests tomorrow instead." She gave a slow blink at his words, not being able to fully process or understand them in her current state. "Nothing to worry about, it'll be fun." He gave her what was supposed to be a charming smile and moved his hand higher, leaning too close; lingering at the waist band of her pants. She wanted to push away from him, but couldn't find the energy to do so. "But for now, I want you to be a _good_ girl and do something for me."

Wendy sat upright in her bed, breathing heavily—sweat making her sticky with her bed sheets gluing themselves to her skin. The sun was just starting to rise; peeking in through the sheer purple curtains and slowly lighting the room up. Nancy was curled down at the corner of the mattress, eyes trained on the struggling blonde and watching as Wendy inhaled deeply, exhaled—inhaled again, stomach rolling around inside herself; then flung the covers off her body, hearing the hiss from the familiar, but darting for the tiny ensuite to hurl all the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl; grimacing at the regurgitated roast chicken from dinner the night before. Gagging and coughing ensued as her body tried to remove every bit of sustenance from her person. She tried to shake the blurry memory turned nightmare away from her brain, squeezing her eyes tight as if that would help to shove the images from her mind—it didn't, of course it didn't. The phantom touch that lingered on her thighs made her skin prickle unpleasantly, like thousands of ants crawling across her flesh.

The feeling had Wendy scratching at her thighs, nails dragging against the surface and causing red welts to appear. Tears stained her cheeks while her breathing became short. She wanted the feeling to leave; to go. Go, go, _go_. The blonde pulled her hands away from her legs and dove for the shower, turning the knobs until the water was scalding and ripped the clothes off of her body to jump right underneath the spray. Wendy sobbed hysterically—tears mixing with the water as she gripped the hair at her scalp; praying to anyone, anything that would listen, to make it go away as her skin turned red under the burning water; thighs stinging as the scorching liquid caressed the welts there.

Wendy didn't know how long she stayed in the shower, only that her fingers and toes were wrinkled when she decided it was time to leave her haven. Before she knew it, she was dressed and staring at her reflection in the mirror, the doppelgänger didn't show her distress—save for the dark circles under her eyes. Autopilot Wendy had dressed her in a soft pink maxi skirt that covered the scratch marks she had bestowed upon herself and a white long-sleeved button up blouse that hid her chest from unwanted eyes.

Tired and drained was all she felt. Apart of her wanted to curl up into a ball and hid under the covers of her bed until the world swallowed her up. Another apart just wanted to forget the dream and the first hour of this morning never happened. Pile all of it into a little box and set it on fire, and watch the flames lick away at the wickedness that was her known memories. Maybe today was the day to find a too tall building—see how high she wanted to be before she fell.

No, no, _no_. Wendy shooed the thoughts away (ignoring them completely) from her mind before making her way downstairs after slipping on her flats, stroking Nancy's head upon her descent without looking up, knowing he would be perched upon the railing at the bottom waiting for her like he was every morning since they lived here, along with feeling his annoyance at Grams for accidently stepping on his tail before leaving to have breakfast with Clair Sesston—replaying the incident over and over again in his mind, coming to the decision to break the tall slim green vase in the lounge room.

"Don't do it." Wendy reprimanded the familiar blearily. "She'll get y' with tha' hose again." Nancy flicked his ear in acknowledgement, but didn't change his mind about breaking the vase, deciding it was worth it.

Wendy shuffled into the kitchen and took the shopping list that was stuck to the fridge with a pair of cartoon angel wings. A distraction, distractions were good—a distraction was needed. Nancy weaved through her legs, nuzzling his face against her foot and gave her shin a small head butt.

"I'll be back, later." Wendy told her furry friend. "Don't be breakin' nothin'." Nancy retaliated with a hiss and darted out of the kitchen, set on his vengeance no matter what she said. Humming a small tune to herself, she turned away from the fridge, list in hand with the bullet point stars evenly spaced on the paper.

The market would be the place to go today, Wendy decided; for today was a lovely day—a day that was meant to be spent outside underneath the sun and soaking up the vitamin D; not being cooped up inside like a hermit thinking about things she didn't want to think about. Today's weather was Wendy's favourite type of weather—sunny, but chilly; a little warm in the sun though still cool enough for sleeves or a jacket. She wandered towards the front door, placing the cream coloured sun hat upon her head, snagging her keys from the hallway table, and positioning the yellow sunglasses upon her nose.

Wendy called a goodbye to her familiar, the only response she received was the sound of something smashing and Nancy feeling immensely pleased with himself. Sighing heavily, she decided to ignore it and deal with the mess when she got back, hopefully before Grams returned and began chasing Nancy through the house with the hose again.

* * *

Red Stick Farmers Market was about a thirty minute bus ride give or take, but Wendy didn't mind the drive because she quite liked watching the scenery pass her by. Danny often questioned her on why she just didn't get her license, but the constant hammering against the walls around her mind made it difficult to focus on not running someone over; and also the fact that she was terrified that she would for some reason sneeze dramatically, crash and die—the fear was there and she didn't know why.

There were many interesting people on the bus, some were residents of St. Francisville, others were just passing through but all were heading somewhere different. Wendy was always a little unnerved by the fact that everyone around her was constantly within their own mind and thinking a million secret thoughts that battered against her walls daily; their internal struggles just like her own and everyone else—these people around her weren't just faces meant to fill up the world around her, there was a lot more to people then most could ever actually know. Like how the bus driver worked two jobs to help support his working wife and sick son, whom was suffering from leukemia—trying to make ends meet while also paying for the expensive hospital bills they were hit with monthly. And the little old man with his polished wooden cane and bouquet of daises was on his way to visit was late wife's grave; a beautiful woman with striking red hair in her youth and a sunny personality, he spun her around the dance floor to a fast paced beat watching her shriek in laughter—his memories making Wendy smile while she looked out the window.

Wendy knew that no one would be getting off the bus with her, not because she read their minds, but because she was the only one who carried canvas bags with her. She was sitting next to a woman who had long green hair, obviously dyed, but pretty and stood out against her caramel skin—the woman was reading a book on physiology, and had her brow scrunched up while she re-read the same sentence on the page again and again, frustration radiated from her which had her finally closing the book with a snap.

"I like y' hair." Wendy told her, breaking the silence, causing the woman to jump and turn towards the blonde; who gave the woman a dreamy smile. "Mermaid hair."

"Thanks." The woman looked a little confused, wondering why Wendy was even attempting at a conversation.

"Are y' studin'?" Wendy asked and gestured to the book the woman had placed back into her big red handbag.

"Tryin' t'." Mermaid Girl replied, scoffing a little while running her fingers to a temple to try and stop the oncoming headache. "I've got'ah test comin' up an' studin' for it is'ah bitch."

"Well, I think you'll do jus' fine, try not t' worry 'bout it too much." Wendy gave another dreamy smile and decided to lend the woman a helping hand by sending a spark of confidence straight at her, like an arrow that aimed true, visibly watching as Mermaid Girl put her shoulders back and straightened in her seat. "Lettin' somethin' like studin' an' tests drag y' down, an' stress y' out won't do'ya any good . . . an' always remember that even if y' mess up, dogs on tha' street will still tug on their owners when they see y' walk on by 'cause they wanna' say 'hello'." Mermaid girl just laughed, shaking her head as a happy easy smile lit up her pretty face and they talked until Wendy departed the bus with a smile and wave.

Wendy loved the markets. There was something calm about it even though she was surrounded by others thoughts and emotions. The sense of community was a little overwhelming, but not unpleasantly so, besides she rarely ran into anyone she knew whenever she did come to buy her fruit and vegetables, and she supposed that was a plus because she didn't have stares burning into the back of her head or thoughts jabbing Wendy's mind about their opinions of her.

"Fancy meeting you here." The familiar voice sounded from beside Wendy as she stood in front of a stall selling large tubs of natural honey. She gave a little jolt, almost dropping the tub of honey she held in her hands upon the pavement.

Wendy turned and met golden eyes. "Are y' stalkin' me?" she enquired innocently enough, head cocking to the right like a bird. Gabriel only shrugged and took the honey from her hands after she paid the man who ran the stall, giving the pair a strange look at Wendy's comment before turning to help another. "What're y' doin' here?"

"It's a nice day, why not spend it outside?" He said rhetorically, flicking down the sunglasses that were upon his head so they sat on his nose instead to shade his eyes.

"Wanna' do tha' groceries with me?" Wendy chirped while walking over towards the strawberries—smiling at the older woman who sat on a fold out chair, fanning her face with a piece of paper. Gabriel hummed in agreement to the blonde's question while trailing behind with a confident swagger, and taking the canvas bag from Wendy once she had placed the strawberries and honey within it; she didn't fight him on it, happy to accept the help.

Wendy had been doing research on mythical creatures with wings since Gabriel and herself had last spoke, and there were a lot of interesting options; though Wendy was focusing on gods, gods who specifically had wings—and Loki wasn't one of them. Loki was a Norse god and a trickster, she wondered why he would give her that name because it wasn't a truth, but it wasn't a lie either; which was beyond frustrating. Wendy wanted to poke him until he told her.

Maybe she wasn't met to know. Maybe Grams taking her memories was a gift from the universe, telling her that it was better to forget, better to let Gabriel's secrets remain secrets—even from her. And if that was the case, than she wouldn't push it; didn't really see the point if it was only going to cause her nothing but pain. Wendy could live with not knowing, her curiosity be damned, but if the time came for her to know his secrets; then she would accept that too.

Wendy winced a little at the sudden pain that came across her shin, stopping short on the crowded pathway. A hand gently wrapped around her bicep, holding her up when she stumbled to a small bench on the side behind a smoothie van.

"You alright?" Gabriel asked quietly, eyebrows furrowed as he came to sit beside her, placing the few groceries they had collected at his feet.

Wendy didn't answer right away, frowning down at her shin before a sudden wave of pain pulsed from the area. A sob escaped her lips and further off in the distance a little boy cried out.

"It _hurts_. It hurts _real_ bad." Wendy bawled ridiculously, panic rising inside herself, hands shaking from a shot of adrenaline that coursed through her body. She knew what was happening, channelling wasn't anything new to her, but it came on suddenly without warning because she wasn't focusing as well as she should have been, her walls already weakened after her morning's emotional volatility. She felt incompetent, useless; unable to even block a scraped knee. It was embarrassing to have Gabriel or anyone witness the pitiful display of what most people assumed as lunacy.

Wendy wiped at her face free of tears and took a breath, calming herself enough to fight through the pain that wasn't her own. The little boy who had somehow hurt himself was crying so loud he could be heard from where they were sitting, it was easy to lock in on him once knowing his location—and when she had him, she took the pain away; absorbed it inside herself with her brow creased in concentration, shin aching as she did, but in doing so she was able to calm him and finally ease him off to sleep—Wendy finally let go of his pain.

"That happen often?" The glowing being next to her questioned, he sat close—not too close to make her uncomfortable, just close enough to offer her solace.

"No," Wendy responded in a mumble, scratching at the inside of her wrist to give her something else to focus on instead of the impending anxiety that began to rise inside of her at the thought of Gabriel thinking (just like everyone else did) that she was cracked, whittled, broken; like a too chipped tea cup—could still drink from, but too damaged to really enjoy the hot beverage inside.

"Wanna' Kiss?" Gabriel asked abruptly, prying her fingers from her skin; rubbing the abused flesh with his thumb. Wendy took a deep breath, frowning down at the thumb that ran up and down the inside of her wrist, realising what he had asked.

"Pardon?"

"Don't get too excited," Gabriel smirked as he took a Hershey's Kiss from his pocket and placed it into her hand. Wendy's fingers curled around the sweet treat, bestowing him with a breathy laugh and a dreamy smile.

"I love these." She said softly, giving him a small happy smile.

"I know."

They spent the next hour and a half dawdling around the market, talking about this and that. It was easy, easier than anyone else she had spent time with due to the fact that she didn't need her wards up—because whatever Gabriel was, he had the ability to shield her mind and body from those around them. To Wendy, that was a gift; pure and selfless. For that hour and a half she didn't have the weight of her own shields crashing down on her as she tried to keep herself free from everyone else. That added another clue to what he really was—what kind of individual had that kind of power to not only block Wendy and keep doing so, but to also shield her from the relentlessness of her everyday life as well?

Someone with power, that was obvious. But who and what was the thing that stumped Wendy.

Gabriel had offered to take her home again, wouldn't let her ride the bus home with all the groceries she was carrying. He didn't really give her a choice, taking the few bags she held and the multiple ones he had, and placed them in the boot of the Cadillac. The drive back was relaxed; casual. Gabriel didn't mind her ramblings, didn't smile out of politeness but out of genuine pleasure of speaking with her; he didn't cut her off, always let her finish what she was saying before he gave his own input. That was refreshing.

He cut the engine when they reached the old farmhouse, dust from the dirt driveway coming to a rest before he spoke. "I'll be gone for a while."

"Oh," was what escaped Wendy's mouth. That was sudden, unexpected most definitely. She believed that in the short time of knowing him that they had become acquainted, dare she say she even thought of Gabriel as a friend. "Well . . ." She continued kindly. "It was nice meetin' y' again, Gigi."

"Yeah." The faint reply seemed to echo in the small space of the car. He perked up; expression becoming almost sly. "I'll see you soon, _Wendolyn_." Gabriel purred her name, seemingly to roll each syllable off his tongue effortlessly, the low tones caressing her very essence and she had to suppress the shiver that threatened to overcome her body. The feeling was foreign, and she couldn't tell if she liked it or not.

Wendy wrinkled her nose, distorting the freckles that were scattered there. "Do'ya hav'ta say it like that?"

Gabriel shrugged, tapping a beat she didn't know on the steering wheel. "I like the way it sounds."

Wendy looked out at her home that stood in the sunshine; sunlight reflecting off the windows like it was ablaze. She built her walls up brick by brick, easier to do now that she hadn't needed to have it up for the duration of their time together. She turned back to Mr. Glow-y to find that he was already observing her. "Don't be'ah stranger, Gigi."

"Wouldn't dream of it, sunshine." Gabriel retorted, words painted in swirling yellows with a grin lighting up his face as he did so. Wendy gave the Mystery Man a swift peck on the cheek, feeling his cheek twitch with a smile before she jumped out of the car, watching as he gave her a wave and drove off into the distance, travelling to wherever he was travelling to.

Disappoint rushed through her and she gave a heavy weighted sigh. _I didn't get tha' bags._ As soon as the words popped into her mind, the groceries appeared beside her feet. Wendy gave the bags a disapproving look, toeing them with her foot; when they didn't attack she picked them up from the porch. _What tha' heck are ya'?_

A loud yowl broke into her thoughts, followed by crashing and banging.

"Get back here y' stupid cat!" Grams' shout shook the house.

Wendy heaved another sigh.

* * *

It had been one week and two days since her goodbye with Gabriel, and one more murder had been discovered; this time in Shreveport. Another person savagely ripped open. It was a woman—her name was Maria Rogers, a single mother of three and now her children didn't have a mother, because she was senselessly taken from them. Her face had been plastered all over the news and papers. People were more outraged and sympathetic because she was the only one out of all the murders to leave children behind.

Wendy toyed with the talisman that sat at the base of her neck. The small bronze ornament was a celtic knot that had every cloaking spell cast upon it and was dipped into every masking potion both Eleanor and Wendy came across. And it had worked, Grams couldn't find Wendy's magical signature once she put the pierce of jewellery on; it was a relief, a weight lifted from both of their shoulders now—though the fear of the Valtushard still lingered.

It seemed like today was going to be a bad day. The diner was understaffed and busy. Both Clare and Bec were out sick, Riley was at a funeral, Jamie was visiting a sick relative; so Joyce and Wendy were trying to power work through the lunch rush. It was a bad day because Wendy wasn't all there. The walls that held her mind together were like goo, letting everyone seep into her skin, her mind, her body—almost taking over completely at some points to bring her to a standstill in the middle of the floor, thankfully she had Joyce watching her and coming over to give her a pinch to jerk her out of the daze.

Wendy kept messing up the orders, forgetting what table had what, who wanted which. She brushed against three people in the space of an hour; the stabbing pain against her temple was caused by the consumption of too many memories all at once. In that short hour, the blonde learnt that Michael Russell whom was the towns head Surgeon, just so happened to have a drug addiction (heroin to be specific) and gained all his medical knowledge he had acquired in his forty years of practice. Lisa Russell, the surgeon's wife, was having an affair with their nanny; both were planning on running away together and getting married. Lisa didn't like her life, it was too much for her to handle; being married to the head doctor of the only hospital came with too much social stress for her to cope with any more. Her husband loved his drugs more, so she was going to take her children and run.

Last was Adam Murphy. He very much wanted to have sex with Wendy. Adam had been with multiple men and women, his sexual encounters now running rampant in Wendy's head. He wasn't dangerous—just a little sleazy, flirty; he wasn't bad looking either, just wasn't what she was looking for because Wendy was attracted to intelligence. Not that book smart type of intelligence. Wendy didn't care if a person went to college or how much money they made because of it; she liked intelligent _conversations_ that made her think about life.

Gold eyes flashed in her mind, and Wendy threw the thought away; not giving herself any time to consider it.

"Excuse me, waitress?" A husky voice called her to attention, snapping her away from the memory of sowing a man's chest back up after doing heart surgery. Wendy looked down at her hands, still being able the see her latex gloves covered in blood; she blinked the vision away.

The blonde waitress swung around, her long ponytail following the movement, and observed the two men who sat in one of the booths. Wendy had never seen their faces before. Immediately she dove into their minds, gauging what she wanted to know with ease.

Samuel and Dean Winchester.

Hunters.

One thing in particular was different about these men though. They were darker; the blue that normally surrounded other humans had grown darker in the both of them—Deans middle was a deep shade of blue whereas Sam's centre was pitch black fading out to a dusty blue. That was definitely something Wendy had never seen before. The two were dressed casually enough, similar with flannel and semi heavy jackets, so that meant they didn't want any attention on them. But it would happen anyway, small towns were just like that, they would have people eyeballing them for the rest of their stay. They were also looking for the Valtushard, just like the other hunter from a few weeks back.

They were looking for Grams.

The knowledge had Wendy standing straighter, judging the two as she stepped closer. The man with the short cinnamon coloured hair and scruff on his jaw, Dean, noticed the movement, though he took the sign as her interest in him; she supposed that was okay, better that then him knowing she knew what they were up to. The other, Samuel, had longer hair, pretty and slightly darker with sideburns gracing the sides of his face; Wendy wondered if she'd be able to braid his hair, possibly weave flowers into as well.

A hand waved in front of her eyes, bringing her back to the here and now, Wendy frowned once she realised she stood before them, then blinked at the one named Dean. His eyes were green, so _so_ green, as green as the clovers that graced Grams' flower bed or like the immaculate lawn of Mr. and Mrs. Mckinnon who watered it every single day without fail, even when they had that drought two years back, theirs was the only green lawn in the whole town.

"You alright there?" Dean asked with a crease brow as he handed the menu to the blonde.

"Y' have tha' greenest eyes ta' ever green." Wendy spoke without thought, the words tumbling from her mouth even though she didn't give her consent.

Dean gave a little chuckle, eye brows raised with a charming smile. "Never heard that pickup line before."

"It wasn't'ah pickup line. I said what I saw, an' I saw what I said." Wendy explained, giving a little nod to herself, she didn't miss the look the brother's shared with each other, but she was listening to the nagging thoughts of pie coming from the eldest. "We have apple-pie. I'll get'ah slice for y'." She hummed quietly under her breath, tuning in to the thoughts of a burger and eggs benedict, writing it quickly down of the notepad then turned away—the two hunters no longer holding her attention anymore.

Wendy placed their orders with Marco while she went about her business dealing with customers who wanted to be a nuisance, all the while keeping tabs on the two hunters sitting at table number five (the same table Gabriel sat himself in the first time, but not the first time, they met). They were both thinking she was weird, that was okay because most people thought that, but they were also discussing if Wendy was the right person to question about Grams. Dean argued that weird people always gave away more info, Sam retaliated that they'd be better off asking someone who knew the majority of the town's people; like a doctor or the minister.

"Hey, babygirl!" Marco called for Wendy from the order window. Her eyes fluttered as they came back into focus, becoming aware of Marco's slight irritation and concern at her, and Mr. Perkins judgmental gaze. Wendy made her way over toward the order window and faced her employer. "Called your name three times, Wendy. You alright?"

Wendy gave Marco a dreamy smile, "Jus' so much goin' on, they're all chirpin' away like early mornin' birds."

" _Right_ ," He eyed her carefully, running his dark gaze up and down her figure as if he could physically see if she were about to have a meltdown or not. "You need a break, you tell me yeah? Orders up, babygirl." Wendy nodded swiftly, grabbing the orders for the hunters and getting away from Marco quick smart before he put her in a time out.

"Here y' go." The blonde girl placed the plates on to the small table, two in front of Dean and one before Sam.

"How did you . . ." Samuel trailed off, his expression one of puzzlement. "We didn't order."

"I'm'ma good guesser." Wendy replied cheerily, the cheer being somewhat forced.

"Okay." Dean shrugged while a grin lit up his face as he picked the burger up from the plate and took the biggest damn bite Wendy had ever seen someone take; chewing away happily. "We're actually lookin' for someone." He spoke around a mouth full of food. "Family member."

"Oh, yea?" Wendy gave him a sugar sweet smile, making her mouth do something other than straight out calling him a liar.

"Yeah," This time it was Samuel, his pretty hair falling into his eyes, and Wendy fought the urge to brush it away. "Our great-aunt. We haven't seen her in years, but our father passed and we couldn't reach her so we decided to drive out here." There was truth in the words of their father passing and Wendy felt a little sad for them, but they still wanted Grams and she wasn't going to be swayed into being truthful because of a sad story.

"Her name's Eleanor Barrois, you know her?" Dean's cheeks were puffed up with burger. Wendy wrinkled her nose a little, he looked like a chipmunk; albeit a gruff and scruffy one, but still a furry little critter altogether (just with less fur).

"Well I sure do!" She sung, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "It's jus' so nice that y'all came out t' see her. I see her in church every Sunday; she's such'ah sweet o'l thang." Wendy felt a little guilty for lying, but it was necessary. Grams would grumble at Wendy calling her old if she ever found out.

"You know where she lives?"

"'Course I do, silly." Wendy replied, clasping her hands together in front of her person. "She lives outta' town, pass Alexander Creek on Forest Glen Lane. Don't drive too fast or ya'll miss tha' turn off." Hopefully it'd take them awhile to figure out she lied. Mr. Jones was the only person aside from his budgie that lived on Forest Glen Lane. Wendy and Eleanor lived in the opposite direction, twenty minutes away from town on acreage and far enough away from neighbours that they couldn't converse easily. Soon as she was done with them Wendy was going to call home to give Grams a head up.

And so she began to weave a few thoughts into their minds to keep them occupied for a while before she got back to the farmhouse. Let them bicker back and forth a little, have them go around in circles and miss the turn off for the address she gave them before they gave in a asked another person.

"I hope y'all find tha' house okay."

* * *

 **Fun Facts:**

 _\- Brentwood Hospital is an actual hospital in Shreveport. Though there is no one there by the name of Dr. Larsher nor does it have a bad reputation, I just felt it would be more believable to use actual places._

 _\- St. Francisville is a town within Lousianna with a population of 1,712._

 _\- Red Stick Markets is a farmers market in Baton Rouge._

 _\- Wendy's powers do show as signs of very early onset schizophrenia; and is why I chose that particular mental disorder._

 _\- Wendolyn was named after Wendy from Peter Pan (one of my favourite childhood movies)._

* * *

 _I can't wait to develop Wendy's relationships with Sam and Dean!  
\- 13teen xx_


	5. Chapter Five: Ride

_Thank you so much to my reviewers_ chaiteawalnuts _,_ akagami hime chan _,_ Eslynn _, and_ Guest Reviewer _! I can't tell you how much it means to have your feedback. I appreciate it so much.  
So this chapter gets things rolling between Wendy, Sam and Dean. I tried to make them as awkward and stilted as possible without making the whole thing stale. I don't know if I've achieved that though. It took me four times of writing this chapter out to get it where I wanted it, but I still don't think it's quite right yet. So please, tell me what you think (be kind, I'm soft). I also didn't want it to seem like the brothers were warming to Wendy too quickly; especially Dean.  
There is dialogue from the show towards the second part of the chapter-specifically season four, episode two; this is episode where I've started the beginning of Wendy's story._

 _I haven't checked this over yet! Mind the mistakes!_

 _If you're feelin' kind, leave me a review!_

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

 _"I never lie," I said offhand. "At least not to those I don't love."_  
 _\- Anne Rice, The Vampire Lestat._

* * *

 **Chapter Quote:** _"Not dirty leaf water."_

* * *

Wendy stared hard (almost glaring, really) at the black Impala that was parked in front of her home for a good five minutes, lost in her own thoughts. It was a nice car, some might even call it beautiful, but Wendy didn't really know all that much about vehicles. What she did know was that the Winchesters were here and she knew that Grams was here as well.

She could sense the three of them currently having some sort of hostile conversation in the living room, and Wendy would have alerted Eleanor to her presence if it weren't for the fact that the young blonde couldn't access her grandmother's mind nor could she really grasp any of Grams' emotions—they were still there, just softer somehow, but it wasn't due to the older woman merely blocking her either. No, there was something else at work here and Wendy began to grow more frustrated at her grandmother for once again keeping secrets.

Wendy gave one final last shove against the shield that surrounded Eleanor, but it didn't budge and only succeeded in making her mind spin. She narrowed her eyes at the car as she stood on wobbly legs and half-heartedly considered setting the car on fire—it wouldn't be too hard to do. Would actually be quite easy. And if the brothers were a threat, if they got violent and decided to flee; well, there wouldn't be a car to help them do that now would there? They'd have to escape on foot, and it was certainly much easier to track when your prey was on legs instead of wheels. Though, Wendy supposed it wouldn't be very difficult to break their minds if they decided on a more aggressive action.

The car would be left alone.

A frown tugged at her lips, the reflection in the passenger window of the Impala mirrored the facial movement. Wendy didn't like thinking like that. Didn't really like to hurt people and was never one for violence—there was a but though—but sometimes, _sometimes_ violence was needed to protect those she loves; there was no doubt in Wendy's mind that she would stop anyone looking to hurt someone she cared about.

In all honesty, the blonde thought it would have taken the Winchesters a little longer to figure out that they had been played. It was her fault for underestimating the two, though they were annoyed that they had been led on a wild goose chase for a few hours, but there was no harm done so Wendy figured they wouldn't come at her with pointy things.

The sunlight beamed down upon her small form, reflecting off the windows of the house and the car, and sweat to gather on her brow. Wiping the perspiration away with the back of her hand, she slid her silver gaze from the Impala and towards the front door, moving silently—the faded cowboy boots that donned her feet carrying her towards the required destination. The house key slid into the brass lock soundlessly, turning it slowly so the bolt glided back without the resounding _click_. Slipping through the gap she created was effortless, pulling her key from the lock and closing the door behind her were all simple, easy steps to not being caught. So easy, that Wendy was almost positive that one of the brothers would jump out from behind the tiny pot plant beside the staircase and scare her, but that was ridiculous—the plant was overly small to hide behind and if such a thing were to happen they would undoubtedly knock over the plant, and that would leave Wendy feeling just a little bit vexed since she had been trying to keep the little thing alive for a few weeks now. Plus they would look absurd trying to hide their large frames behind such a tiny plant, as if she wouldn't notice. The image made Wendy give a soft laugh before she gasped quietly and covered her mouth with both hands. When her sudden noise didn't alert the other beings in the house, she relaxed a little, her hands falling back to her sides. _Such a silly thought._

Moving towards the living room was trouble-free, knowing just where to step to avoid the creaks of her old home before coming to a stop inside the door frame and taking in the scene before her. Wendy had a clear view of Grams whom sat ever so elegantly upon the lounge like a queen with the two brothers both standing opposite Eleanor, backs towards Wendy and not noticing her presence as she stood a foot or two away. But Grams saw Wendy the moment she appeared, her gaze flicking over towards the young Valkaras before resting back on the boys. The brothers didn't miss a thing though and had moved quickly, backs facing the wall with the timeworn stone fireplace so both Eleanor and Wendy were in their sights; guns raised and ready to defend.

Wendy had never seen a gun before. Well, that was silly. Of course she had seen a gun before; she just hadn't seen a gun in front of her and pointed at her face before today. Wendy wondered if they were so on edge because Grams hadn't offered them any beverages. Perhaps things would've gone smoother with a hot cup of tea and some biscuits before starting in on interrogating her poor grandmother. Not the Eleanor Barrois couldn't take care of herself—but Wendy considered it a little rude to question someone when niceties hadn't been placed.

"I told y' we were expectin' guests Grams, an' y' didn't make tea." Wendy reprimanded lightly, edging into the room slowly as to not startle the two men with fire arms and came to a stop when Nancy was suddenly weaving through her legs before plonking himself down in front of her feet, hissing agitatedly at the two strangers.

The older brother grimaced at the cranky feline then quickly flashed his eyes back up to Wendy. " _You_. I knew you were fishy."

Wendy frowned at the lie, "Oh, y' did not Dean Winchester." She reprimanded him like she would a child; huffing a little at his indignant tone while placing her small hands on her hips, watching in absentminded interest as both of the strangers seemed to tense at her words. Her mind moved onto other things as the room grew silent, eyes falling on the window that had a perfect view of the back of the house and the tree that stood there dropping its leaves every fall, making Wendy have the displeasure of raking them up every day. She wasn't very fond of trees, they're so tall and arrogant—which reminded her of the two intruders in her home.

"How did you—?"

The tiny blonde cut Samuel off before he begun, becoming tired of the unnecessary tension in the room that was pounding against her mind—the swirl of aggressive annoyance shook her form, taking every ounce of restraint to not instinctively absorb the emotion within herself. "Ya'll are gonna' put those on tha' floor," Wendy gestured at the guns they both held, observing the two as she let the surge of her own clam and sleepiness overcome them; looking like toddlers coming down from a sugar high as they unsteadily placed the weapons on the floor. "Very good. Kick 'em away." They completed the command with half-lidded eyes and sluggish movements. Wendy yielded her persuasion over them once the guns slide beneath the buffet; seeing their expressions turn from sleepiness to infuriation.

Wendy rubbed her eyes tiredly as she surprisingly successfully pushed their emotions down.

"What did you do?" Dean took a menacing step towards the blonde, to only be stopped by Nancy who gave a madden yowl. Dean's mouth twisted in displeasure, but he didn't make a move to continue towards Wendy again.

"My granddaughter has ah peculiar set of talents." Grams cut in from her position on the lounge, her eyes assessing Wendy's frazzled appearance.

"Tea?" Wendy inquired out of the blue and gave the two brothers a dreamy smile, watching on as their faces twisted in confusion.

"We just—we just had guns aimed at you." Samuel frowned at the girl, completely bemused by her reaction to their current predicament. He side eyed Dean who was gave his sibling a similar look.

Wendy liked the fact that they could communicate with a single glance, their thoughts clanging around in her mind—something that they clearly didn't need to be able to convey what they wanted to say with only eye contact.

 _Is she in shock?_

 _I told you, witches are crazy._

"Mhmm, so tea?" Wendy cut into their non-verbal conversation.

"Uh—yeah?" _I dunno'. Tea? Why tea? Do you want tea, Dean?_ Samuel shot Dean a questioning look, who only shrugged in retaliation; still giving Wendy the stink eye. "Yes." The younger brother gave her a tight, slightly uncomfortable smile with a small nod of his head.

"Good." Wendy turned on her heel, a bounce in her step as she left the three other occupants to their own devices.

* * *

Dean didn't want any dirty leaf water from the tiny crazy blonde. He was sitting on the lounge opposite Eleanor with Sam beside him after the older woman welcomed them to take a seat, he had half a mind to follow after the waitress to make sure she didn't poison anything she offered them or come back with some kind of weapon. Dean was still pissed about driving around for hours on end looking for the one and only Eleanor Barrois on the words of the chirpy blonde the brothers had met earlier that day. He should have known, should have _fucking_ known that they were being played. In hindsight it was blatantly obvious, the waitress knew what they wanted to order without asking—that was a giveaway if he ever saw one. Hell, the mind game even reminded him of the goddamn trickster that seemed to slip through their fingers at every encounter, and for a brief moment Dean suspected the Pagan god was at play.

The young witch appeared without warning beside Sam, and Dean fought the smile that threatened to show as his brother flinched a little at her abrupt presence. She carried with her a wooden tray that held four steaming mugs and a plate of biscuits, placing the beverages in front of each person. Dean frowned down at the mug as he collected it from the large coffee table, bringing it under his nose to sniff at the liquid.

"Coffee," Wacko informed him with a wistful grin, making Dean look up at her with a scowl. "Not dirty leaf water." For a second he wondered if he had said that out loud, but if he had Sam would've given him his bitch face.

"That's creepy, blondie." Dean commented before he took a tentative sip, the bitter taste of the coffee—just the way he liked it; black with one sugar—revealed nothing threatening. _What the hell_. He grabbed two biscuits and gave them a sniff too before deeming them safe enough to eat.

"So I've been told." Blondie gave Dean another stoner grin which had him scrunching up his face at her.

"We're hunting a witch and Bobby said you might be able to help us." Sam began, resting his elbows on his thighs as he leant forward with hunched shoulders, though he made no move to touch his tea or the food.

"Y' mean ah' Valtushard." Eleanor corrected giving the two brothers a stern look. "Try not t' throw her in with tha' rest of us, honey."

"Whatever." Dean sounded off. "The fact is we have a crazy S. O. B. running around killing people."

"I've never once enjoyed ah' fact, but that _is_ true. I feel like they're tha' type'ah person who never wears patterns." Blondie spoke up just before taking a long pull from her mug, wide eyes the only thing they could see over the large cup.

Sam finally made a grab for his own beverage, bringing the teal coloured mug to his lips to quickly hide the growing smile that began to show. They were dealing with two witches; one of them happened to be a basket case and Sam found the whole thing funny.

Dean sighed internally, ignoring Wacko's comment. "Anyway. You gonna' help us or not?"

It was quiet for a moment as Eleanor sized the both of them up with an arched brow, unknown thoughts running through her head before she finally spoke.

"Oh honey, no." Eleanor gave the two a cat like grin, he granddaughter giving her a frown that she ignored. "Y' gonna' help me. Ya'll can't kill this thang, y' two ah' just'ah sack of meat with bones holdin' y' up right." The older woman leaned forward, gaze narrowing and intimidating—expression becoming serious and threatening. " _You_ will take my granddaughter an' _you_ will keep her _safe_ while I deal with tha' Valtushard. That is our agreement."

"No." Dean declined without missing a beat, shooting to his feet and making his way across the room towards the buffet to fetch the gun Blondie had made him kick there. "C'mon Sam, we're leaving."

"I agree." Wendy sided with Dean, turning to her grandmother with her thick brows lowering over her eyes, marring her round face. "If y' think I'm gonna' leave y' alone t' deal with tha' Valtush—"

"Wendolyn, I go after 'em, they'll meet me head on; where you'll be—like'ah present wrapped up in'ah pretty little bow." Eleanor placed her wrinkled hand upon Blondie's knee, giving a little squeeze. "I'll be dead before that ever happens."

"Dean, wait!" Sam, who hadn't moved from his seat on the lounge to follow his brother, called out to him before giving Eleanor his full attention. Sam heard Dean march back into the room, but placed himself near the exit instead of the lounge. "Why do you want us to hide . . . Wendolyn?"

"Wendy's fine." The dreamy blonde offered as she reached for a biscuit and gave the treat a bright smile; her mood swinging over to a more positive one at the drop of a hat.

Eleanor sighed heavily with pursed lips, fingers flexing in her annoyance, but she didn't answer. It was silent between the four of them, bordering on awkward. Dean lent against the door frame, arms folded and waiting on his younger sibling. Dean was beginning to think this whole detour was a waste of time. They'd be so much closer to catching the witch if they hadn't taken Bobby's advice.

Frustration bubbled up inside Dean.

And then it was gone. Dissipating too quickly to be natural.

Dean's clover green eyes meant that of the young Valkaras.

"I feel it all." She told him with a little smile and finished off her biscuit. Wendy's long blonde hair tumbled over her shoulder as she reached for another. "Sometimes it's'ah flowin' river; as calm as calm can be. But then it's ragin' an' batterin'—crashin' against me—over an' over; like an ocean durin' ah' storm or an angry man with'ah sledgehammer."

"Wendy's an Emapth. Ah better term would be Vadalis," Eleanor educated the two men, sweeping a curl that came free back up into her neat and tidy bun while she watched the young blonde worriedly. "Which is someone with tha' ability of emotional manipulation an' absorption; kinda' like'ah syphon, being able t' access someone's entire bein' with just'ah touch. What makes that so dangerous—wanted . . . Wendy can also absorb abilities." Eleanor stated plainly and quickly; like ripping off a band-aid. "Ah Valtushard kills their victim with ah very specific an' painful ritual t' acquire their victim's powers. If they were t' have Wendy's gifts . . ."

"Then they wouldn't need to kill." Sam finished.

"No, there would still be killin's." Eleanor re-adjusted herself on the lounge, crossing her ankles over. "Tha' ritual isn't jus' for stealin' power, but for also stealin' youth. That's why all tha' bodies are missin' their lungs as well as their hearts."

"Y' supposed t' eat tha' heart, then mush tha' lungs up," Wendy rubbed her palms together, actioning her words. "til' it's paste like, an' rub it on y' skin." She finished knowingly, her nose wrinkled as she looked off to the side at the damned cat that was eyeing Dean in a particularly nasty way. Wendy gave the feline a disapproving look and watched it slink off behind the lounge she sat on.

"So, what? It's like some kind of sadistic anti-aging serum?" Dean threw out, face twisted in disgust. "Damn, witches are gross." That was even more fucked up, couldn't the son of a bitch just leave the dead be? Why go be extra and start fucking eating them? Dean repressed a shiver of disgust.

Eleanor sneered at his commentary. "Tha' last time tha' murders happened there were twenty-one victims." She leveled the two brothers with a glare. "Tha' last time my daughter was murdered . . . So if ya'll want my help, take tha' deal or try an' find yourselves another witch who won't try t' kill y'."

* * *

"We don't know 'em." Wendy fiddled with her fingers as she watched her grandmother pack the brightly patterned weekender bag full with other necessities other than clothes she took from the young woman's room. Small jars filled with different herbs and other odds and ends were placed in there as well.

Both Samuel and Dean were waiting in the car for her. They had promised her grandmother that they wouldn't go anywhere until Wendy was ready. The whole thing had Wendy's mind spiraling. She was confused, not really knowing what to do about this whole situation. Of course Wendy understood her grandmother's reasoning, but she felt discarded; being pushed away like she wasn't wanted. It reminded Wendy of her father and Kathy, hiding her away from the world so she couldn't cause further issues. She wanted to dig her heels in, stamp her foot, shout, scream; anything to get her grandmother to explain why she was doing what she was doing.

"I know Bobby. I trust Bobby." Grams didn't look up at Wendy as she picked up the heavy leather bound grimoire and moved to pack it with everything else.

"No, don't." Wendy took the heavy book from her grandmother, putting it on the over sized island that stood in the middle of the basement. "You'll need it more than me."

Grams placed her hands upon her hips. "I know I've upset y', but I'm—"

"Stop." Wendy snapped wringing her hands together then stopped the movement to push her hair back away from her face with both hands. She tried to swallow, but her throat felt restricted. "I can't hear y'. Can barely feel y'—an' y' just actin' like this is normal. It's not normal! Y' keepin' secrets an' I don't know why."

Grams sighed and grasped Wendy's hands within her own, causing the younger woman to suck in a sharp breath as emotions and thoughts whirled around inside her mind before her grandmother slammed up her shield. Eleanor jingled her newly acquired bracelet that hung delicately from her wrist, bringing it to Wendy's attention. "I've enchanted it t' block y'—or ah Vadalis, really—an' only works when there's no skin contact. It took ah while t' come across. It's better this way. Y' don't need t' be on guard all tha' time."

Silver and blue mixed with her grandmother's words.

Wendy wrenched herself away from the woman before her; losing the connection to Grams' emotions at the action. "You're _lying_."

"Y' need t' understand—"

"No, no, I need t' not be lied t'!" Wendy sputtered with watery eyes and shallow breaths. "Why—why would y' do that?"

"Wendolyn—"

"No more excuses!" Wendy uttered disdainfully, cutting her grandmother off before she could sooth her. "I jus' want tha' truth . . . _please_."

"No." Eleanor spoke firmly, narrowing her eyes at her granddaughter. Wendy felt her eyes widen as she took another step back. She reached out to tap against the wall that surrounded her Grandmother, but aside from the quiet waves of regret, she got nothing; just static.

Wendy swallowed tightly as she turned away from her care-giver and zipped up her bag, walking out of the basement without another word to Eleanor. She bid Nancy a quiet farewell, asking him to look out for her grandmother while she was away. Nancy wasn't too happy to have Wendy leave; his tail flicking back and forth as he sat beside the front door—his displeasure running through her, but she gave him a smile while scratching behind his ears and he returned the action by nuzzling into her hand.

* * *

Five minutes later the brothers were sitting in the Impala with Metallica playing quietly on the old stereo while they waited for Blondie.

"I can't believe you talked me into this." Dean grumbled as he sat in the driver's seat of the vehicle, Sam beside him in the passenger's seat. They were heading back to Bobby's to find out about all the angel crap they were dealing with (on top of the fucking witch shit).

"Do you have any other ideas?" Sam retorted. "I'm all ears Dean."

Before Dean could shoot a scathing remark at Sam, the boot popped open, than quickly shut again followed by the back passenger door going through the same motions—then there was Blondie sitting in the backseat of his baby.

"Who's Bobby?" Wacko inquired harmlessly. Dean was about to answer the casually asked question, but caught himself. A crease formed between his brows as he shot a look at Sam who gave him the same questioning eyes. They both turned to look at the little weirdo.

"How—"

"Ya'll have loud thoughts," She answered Sam's question before he asked it. "It's like screamin' inta' ah microphone."

"Wait, you read minds?" Dean winced a little when he asked out loud and felt a little guilty for the names he had called her, even if they were only said inside his head. He shook it off, and gave the witch a blank look. It was fucking freaky, just what he needed; a goddamn witch inside his head while an angel waltzed around telling him God was real.

"Oh yes!" Blondie grinned brightly, but her smile softened when she saw the stricken look upon Sam's face. "Don't worry though, most people think what ya'll were when they first meet me."

"Right, well sorry." Sam squinted, his lips ticking a little to the side.

"That's so nice." Wendy said softly, buckling herself up. She sat with legs crisscrossed underneath herself in the middle seat, hands clasped together and back straight—looking out the window at the old farmhouse with a small frown.

"You forget anything?" Dean probed, feeling inclined to ask as he twisted the car keys to start the ignition, engine coming to life and sounding like a deep purr.

"I have no idea what goes on inside ah dishwasher after I push tha' start button. There might be'ah tiny man in there washin' each dish by hand." She peeked over at the two, head cocked to the side. "Who's Bobby?"

Dean snorted, driving the car down the long dirt drive way.

"He's an old friend." Sam responded. "He's got some information for us."

"Okie dokie."

* * *

"You're Elle's granddaughter?" Bobby said gruffly, rhetorically. "Y' look like your ma'." Wendy gave him her best smile, almost laughing when his ears turned red and feeling his bashfulness fill her up— turning her own cheeks pink. He grumbled, words not making much sense as he walked out of the hallway and off to the left.

"He's'ah sweetheart." Wendy commented as she stepped over the threshold of the old house, hefting her bag further up her shoulder and following after the curt stranger where she found him in a small lounge room standing beside an old wooden desk on one side of the room, which was piled and piled with books; some littering the floor, lining the walls, and crowding any available surface. On the other side was a beaten up love seat, a frayed arm chair and a relatively old television set.

Over the last few hours travelling with the brothers taught Wendy that they didn't trust her, which was fair because she didn't trust them either. Dean in particular didn't like her, mainly because she was a witch, also because he thought she rambled a lot about nothing. It also freaked him the hell out that she could read his mind and emotions at any given time; he got the bright idea of shouting AC/DC lyrics in his head that made Wendy wince and throw up her weak walls to keep the shrieking out. Samuel on the other hand was indifferent towards her. He was the type of person who was mild mannered, but didn't typically speak his mind; so what Wendy received when tuning into Sam Radio was snark and sass thrown left and right about anything and everything. Samuel was also twitchy and agitated, which made Wendy want to find out why, though she could take a guess. But trust wasn't earned by looking where someone didn't want you to, and so she let him keep some secrets.

"I got stacks of lore," Bobby began as he took a seat at the desk and started to leaf through a thick hardcover book as the brothers went over. "Biblical, pre-biblical. Some of it damn cuneiform. It all says an angel can snatch a soul from the pit."

Wendy sat her bag down by the love seat and wandered over to the three men whom crowded the desk. She stood next to Samuel's towering frame, frowning down at the depiction of an angel hovering above a man being consumed by fire. Her mind jumped and raced towards Gabriel, her eyes narrowed down at the page, lips pursing in contemplation.

It made sense, didn't it? Gabriel being an angel? Wendy almost laughed, it was glaring obvious now, what with the wings and all that glowy-ness. But why would an angel be wandering around on earth chatting to a Valkaras? Shouldn't he be up in the clouds in paradise? The image of Gabriel in a meadow flashed within Wendy's mind again; it seemed more likely that he had once strolled through such a place at one point in time. But another, equally important question was why these three men were looking into angels?

"What else?" Dean's question startled Wendy from her musings, looking up and finding a crease had formed between his brows. He had his hand resting upon his left shoulder, a memory appearing in her mind as Dean reminisced about seeing it for the first time; the phantom pain that shot through Dean made Wendy grimace and roll her shoulder in response.

"What else, what?" Bobby retorted.

"What else could do it?"

"Airlift your ass out of the hot box—as far as I can tell? Nothing." The older man gave a small shrug, leaning back into his chair with a heavy sigh.

"Dean," Samuel began, lips twitching a little as he did so. "this is good news."

"How?" Wendy could feel Dean's frustration oozing out of him. He was tired of having the same old argument with Samuel. The two were continuously going around in circles, and all Dean wanted to do was forget that the encounter with this angel ever happened; hoped he never saw it again.

"Because for once this isn't just another round of demon crap." Samuel spoke reasonably. "I mean, maybe you were saved by one of the good guys, you know?"

"Okay. Say it's true. Say . . . there are angels. Then what?" Dean countered, raising he's eyebrows quizzically. "There's a God?"

"At this point, Vegas money's on yeah."

Dean chuckled a little at Bobby's remark, making to walk off into the kitchen, "I don't know guys."

"Okay, look. I know you're not all choirboy about this stuff, but this is becoming less and less about faith and more and more about proof." Samuel argued, scoffing. Dean whirled back around as the two began to bicker on and on about the subject. Wendy cast a glance to the side, eyeing Bobby as he rolled his eyes at the pair and began to pour himself a hefty glass of whisky. The sight made Wendy think of her grandfather and a smile pulled at her lips.

"Because why me?" Dean's voice pulled Wendy back into the conversation. "If there's a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?"

"Dean—"

"I mean, I've saved some people, okay? I figured that made up for the stealing and the ditching chicks. But why do I deserve to get saved? I'm just a regular guy." Wendy watched the elder brother worriedly. Anxiety whirling up inside him as he paced a few steps; fists clenching and unclenching. Wendy wanted to sooth him, calm him; but she didn't. He didn't like it so much the first time she had, and Wendy didn't feel like pushing Dean to turning on her with aggression—considering his immense dislike towards people like her.

"Apparently, you're a regular guy that's important to the man upstairs." Samuel verbalized animatedly. Trying to get his brother to see the brighter side of things, to not try and seek out the potential hidden danger in everything.

"Well, that creeps me out." Dean expressed worriedly, shaking his head while Samuel let out a huff. "I mean, I don't like getting singled out at birthday parties, much less by . . . _God_." He finished with a scoff.

"Okay, well, too bad, Dean, because I think he wants you to strap on your party hat." Samuel folded his arms and looked at his older sibling smugly.

"I love parties." Wendy joined the conversation quietly as she reached for the book Bobby had showed the three, turning it around so she could read the words. "It's sad we don't have Balls anymore. I want t' be courted an' dance, an' wear ah lovely gown that sweeps tha' floor."

It was quiet for a moment as Dean ran his tongue along his top teeth while Samuel and Bobby stared blankly at the blonde who was flipping through pages of the thick book, skimming the words for anything that seemed important.

Samuel cleared his throat quietly and gave Wendy a confused smile. "That sounds nice."

"What do we know about angels?" Dean cut through the awkwardness with the query.

Bobby glanced at the pile of fat and weighty looking books, picking them up with a sigh and plonking them on the desk in front of Dean. "Start reading."

Dean glowered at the pile of books, and turned towards Samuel—pointing at him before stating very firmly; "You're gonna' get me some pie." He snatched the very top book from the pile before moping away while the younger of the two pursed his lips at the demand.

Wendy cooed and turned her attention to Samuel. "May I have some chips?"

* * *

 **Fun Facts:**

\- _The term Valkaras is given to natural born witches._

\- _Valtushard is a term for a Valkaras who murders their fellow witches for power._

\- _Wendy would be a Hufflepuff._

 _\- Eleanor would be a Ravenclaw._

\- _Eleanor doesn't have a natural born gift like her daughter Selene or granddaughter Wendy._

\- _Eleanor is a talented Alchemist and Caster._


	6. Chapter Six: What Do I Know

_Thank you to_ Dragondancer81 _,_ Windschatten _, and_ SilverD15 _for your lovely reviews!_

 _I didn't think I'd get this posted until after Christmas . . ._

 _I don't know how I feel about this chapter, I feel like it's lacking_ something _. Usually I write about three drafts before posting_ _-but I wanted to post this, so here it is after the first draft! I hope you enjoy it. So it picks up at the end of the last chapter, parts have been taken from the episode_ Are You There God? _Slowly we're getting to the Valtushard plot, I don't want to rush into it and I'm wanting to have Wendy along with Sam and Dean for awhile before really getting into the gritty bits of her plot. I want to build her relationships with both Sam and Dean, and Gabriel instead of jumping right into everything-there's a lot of stories out there that do that, and that's one of my pet peeves so I'm trying really hard not to do that, haha.  
_ _Also, if anyone is interested there's a playlist up on my profile for this story.  
_ _Mind any mistakes you come across! I'll go through once more to fix any.  
_

 _If you're feelin' kind, leave me a review._

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

 _"Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?"_  
 _\- L.M. Montgomery_

* * *

 **Chapter Quote:** _"Oh, fuck me."_

* * *

In the last twenty minutes Wendy had learned that angels are old, they couldn't die (not really anyway), they had the ability to exercise their own will, there was a _lot_ of them, and they performed the will of God. All of this was well know things about the biblical beings. Nothing really gave Wendy an answer to what else they were really capable of aside from helping humans.

So she began her own research, which was about her own angel; not that he even belonged to Wendy because of course she didn't own him, and this was also on the theory that he even was an angel. Bobby's copy of the book of Enoch was very helpful with her search. It was written between the Old and New Testament and references Gabriel as an archangel; a messenger who was entrusted to deliver several important messages on God's behalf. Reading those words made Wendy paused—staring blankly ahead at nothing in particular as she stopped herself from having a mild panic attack over the new found information of the possibility that she was dealing with an archangel—and set her book down on the arm of the lounge to make herself a tea. Upon visiting the kitchen and searching the cupboards relentlessly, the blonde could only find coffee, which was something Wendy wouldn't consume even if her life depended on it. So she settled for sculling two glasses of water; letting the cool liquid chill her body from the inside before finally sinking back into the couch and forcing herself to resume reading.

Wendy outright snorted when she read that Gabriel was the angel to inform Mary she would conceive and bare a son, calling the attention of Dean who eyed her suspiciously before he gloomily went back to reading, She could just imagine how the whole ordeal went down; she liked to think that Gigi would have just come right out and said it without any form of a segway whatsoever. The research also educated her to the little detail of Gabriel being the angel of annunciation, revealing that the Saviour would be named 'Jesus', and also naming another child 'John' who later became 'John the Baptist'.

Wendy didn't know what to make of the new information; she didn't think she believed in God—a lot of awful things have come about over the argument of which religion was the right religion. And growing up in a small town where the primary religion was Christianity and the majority of people were religious zealots, well, it made Wendy hesitant to even _really_ consider that Gabriel was _that_ Gabriel. The blonde along with her grandmother had been called a number of things from the enthusiast of the Church—witch (that one was true, so Wendy most defiantly had to give a point for that), demon, harlot, etcetera. Faintly she wounded if Gigi thought like that, would she be treated as such the next time she saw him? Wendy didn't think so, but that couldn't be said for other angels; if she were to ever meet another.

It was surprising how much the blonde missed the golden eyed man considering she barely knew him. Well, sort of. But really, a handful of days together before Gabriel was gone again, and Wendy _missed_ him. She wasn't sure if she's ever felt that way over someone she had only recently came into contact with. It seemed a little strange even to her, to catch herself thinking of him when her mind began to wander. What would he say about Samuel and Dean? Would he be alarmed to find her gone from her grandmother's home? Perhaps he wouldn't care, wasn't interested in her endeavours at all. The witch didn't know how she felt about that train of thought.

Wendy fiddled with the talisman around her neck, dragging the Hag Stone back and forth along the chain; gazing down at the sigil carved into the surface. It resembled a 'J' with the right side of its hat left incomplete and the left side having a small vertical line through it. In the middle of the small fanciful 'J' laying horizontally—was a lightning bolt, the end of it angled sharply downwards, and to finish it off was a small circle that sat just above the curve of the letter. Wendy exhaled slowly, leaning her head back against the couch, letting her mind wander off towards her grandmother. She would have thought she'd receive a phone call by now, but her phone never told her of any missed calls and Bobby hasn't received any himself.

Maybe Wendy should have apologised for pushing her grandmother on a subject she didn't want to talk about. But on the other hand, didn't Wendy have a right to know? To be told that there was a reason for Eleanor's choice of blocking Wendy and keeping her in the dark? The pathetic excuse of her sanity being used against her just made Wendy angry, to have it thrown in her face by the one person that was supposed to be on her side . . . it was heart wrenching; made her want to curl up into a ball and disappear.

"Sam," said Dean, cutting through Wendy's thoughts from the desk with his cell phone held to his ear. "You better not forget my pie." He paused as Samuel spoke, rolling his eyes grumbling something into the phone.

"An' chips." Wendy chirped loud enough for Dean to hear as she curled her legs up onto the couch, bringing her focus back to the book she held in her hands and not to the swirling negative thoughts she was thinking before. _Don't tell me what to do_. His thoughts trickled into her mind, but he relayed the request back to Samuel, glaring at her while he did so. Dean had half a mind not to remind Samuel at all, but he wanted chips to.

Bobby walked back into the room about ten minutes later, hanging up his own cell phone and sliding it into his back pocket as he came to a stop at the edge of the room, garnering both Wendy's and Dean's attention. "I got a friend one state over—Olivia Lowry. I've been tryin' to reach her for three days on this angel thing. It's not like her to ignore this many calls."

"Hunter?" Dean inquired, getting to his feet in one swift movement. Bobby gave him a nod. "We'll head out when Sam gets back." Dean slid his eyes over towards Wendy who sat listening intently to the two while trying to look like she wasn't doing just that. "You stay here."

"If ya'll insist." Wendy mused quietly while flipping a page of her book. "What better place t' leave ah Valkaras, than ah room filled with books an' ingredients t' some extremely powerful spells?"

Bobby hid his amusement well, but it simmered up inside Wendy as she hid small smile behind her book and eyed the two from over the cover. Bobby slid his eyes over to Dean who stood clenching his jaw and looking at the witch with disdain. "She's got a point."

"Fine." Dean agreed curtly, turning his head a little at the sound of his car pulling up outside and commanded: "Get in the car."

Wendy bounced up to her feet and placed the worn fraying book upon the coffee table, grinning brightly at the two hunters as she gambolled her way outside while they gathered together a 'go bag' and hauled it outside and over to Bobby's '71 Chevelle. She situated herself into the back seat of the Impala and smiled dreamily at the younger sibling.

"Uh, hello." Samuel greeted the tiny blonde with a perplexed look.

"Hello," Wendy replied softly, running her eyes over his face and thinking that he looked a little displeased. She could faintly detect the feeling of dejection and briefly considered letting her shields down to pry, but instead she simply asked: "What's got'ya lookin' so down?"

"I'm fine." He shifted under her scrutiny then spied Bobby coming towards him, bending down to speak to Samuel from the window and giving him a run down about the situation.

Dean approached the driver's side and Wendy watched as Samuel slid over to the passenger side with ease after the elder told him to move. Grabbing the plastic bag with goodies from Samuel, Dean eagerly dug through the content searching for the dessert he asked for. Disappointment that didn't belong to her rushed through Wendy as he screwed up his face at the bag.

"Dude."

"Yeah?"

"Where's the pie?"

Samuel shrugged; lips pulled in. "Must've forgot it."

"You get the witch chips, but forgot my pie?" Dean countered with a furrowed brow before glancing down and glowering at the small boned hand as it reached into the bag and snagged the large packet of Cheetos.

"Thank ya', Samuel."

* * *

They pulled up in front of the small unassuming home where a beaten up Hyundai sat in the driveway. Wendy let the walls come down around her mind just a tad, just enough to reach out and see if this Olivia person was alright. All she received was raw residual anger being doused on her, but no person. Wendy quickly built the walls back up again, taking a breath to still the urge to absorb it, and followed the boys out of the car—watching on as they grabbed various weapons to arm themselves with. Wendy wasn't surprised that the boys didn't give her one, but she happily accepted the shotgun Bobby handed her and listened as he gave her a brief lesson on how to use it.

"There isn't anyone home." Wendy voiced tranquilly, standing on the sidewalk just behind the other three, and gazing at the house that loomed in front of them ominously. It wasn't what she pictured the woman to be living in—Wendy assumed they would've found Olivia living in a small neglected apartment block like most hunters if they were to stay in one spot, but instead they found her home in a nice unassuming neighbourhood, though it was still small but well-kept with a little tree growing in the front yard.

"How would you know? Maybe she's asleep." Dean shot back brazenly, not even glancing in her direction as the four of them moved towards the front door.

"She's not." Dean muttered a 'whatever' under his breath at her soft spoken remark.

Bobby entered the house first after he jimmied the lock, followed by Dean, Samuel and the tiny blonde witch. The wave of primitive rage seemed to punch Wendy full force in the gut, taking an immense amount of effort not to have a physical reaction to the emotion. Wendy took a breath, steadying herself—pushing her walls up and slamming everything she had against them to keep them standing.

The group didn't have to search for long, coming upon Olivia lying in a heap on the floor of the living room, bloody and contorted; chest violently pried apart. Wendy swallowed down the bile that tried to make its way up her throat while Bobby turned away, lowering the shotgun and rubbing at his face before taking out his phone, and leaving the house.

Dean called after him but Samuel stole his attention by pointing to the archway he walked over and stating: "Salt line" while he crouched down next to Olivia as Wendy walked around the small room to try and keep her wandering eyes away from the corpse on the floor. She didn't find many personal items; only an awful lot of left over fury in the aftereffects of Olivia's death.

"Olivia was rocking the EMF meter." Dean's gruff voice cut into the silence as he held up the device and showed his brother.

"Spirit Activity." Samuel nodded, coming back to his full height though his shoulders were slightly hunched.

"Yeah—on steroids. I've never seen a ghost do this to a person." Bobby entered the room after Dean trailed off while eyeing the witch from across the room. She lingered near the bookshelf seemingly harmless, gazing at the few photo frames there. Dean snapped his gaze back over to the older hunter, "Bobby, you alright?"

"I called some hunter nearby—"

"Good. We can use their help." Dean pointed out, placing the electronic device back where he found it.

"—Expect they ain't answering their phones either." Bobby finished looking forlorn.

"Something's up, huh?" Sam spoke up, scratching at his clean shaven chin.

"You think?" Bobby walked out of the room, grief welling up inside. Wendy's fingers flexed instinctively around the shotgun she still grasped to take the pain away, but managed to withhold. Emotional pain such as grief and anger was so much heavier than physical pain; easier to absorb—harder to manage—difficult to twist and mould to her liking, challenging to not let it consume her and let it go.

"It was angry." Wendy said instead, coming over to look down at Olivia's cold body, noticing that her lovely brown eyes remained wide open. She stooped down and closed the woman's piercing orbs; giving Olivia the illusion of a peaceful sleep if Wendy ignored all the crusted red liquid and the open chest.

"What?"

"Tha' spirit," Wendy stated, peering up at Dean. "It's was angry . . . very, _very_ angry."

They split from Bobby after that, he was going to check on another hunter, and the trio decided to travel to Jackson to visit someone named Jed. They found him the same way they found Olivia. When Dean gave Bobby the bad news Wendy could hear the sigh through the phone. It was decided that they would head back to Bobby's and figure the whole thing out from there. The car was silent as Samuel drove with Dean passed out in the passenger seat sleeping peacefully. For about an hour Wendy gazed out the window, listening to the low tunes of _Queen_ before Dean's emotions started knocking against her shield. Curiously she let the emotions run across her person; panic and fear whirled around inside him and Wendy leant forward, reaching out—touching the tip of her index finger to his spikey cheek. The Valkaras flinched a little as flashes of his dream ran through her mind before she blocked the violent images out.

"What're you doing?" Samuel questioned softly, glancing over at her before snapping his eyes back to the road.

"He's havin' ah' bad dream." Wendy responded just as quietly and stroked his cheek, feeling the prickles of stubble while morphing his emotional state into something more calming—watching as Dean visibly relaxed, letting out a heavy sigh and shifted just a smidge before becoming peaceful once more.

"What's he dreaming about?" Samuel asked lowly, casually, like Wendy couldn't tell he was fishing for something she knew he knew she wouldn't divulge to him.

"I'm not tellin' ya'." She retorted in a quiet singing tone and leant back against the car seat.

"So you can really do that, huh? Twist people around and get inside their heads?" Samuel asked instead once he finally stopped himself from smiling at her attitude, but he still sounded a little sceptical about the whole thing.

"Yea," Wendy answered honestly, shifting to fold her legs up underneath herself and watching his grip tighten on the steering wheel. "Most days I can block it: tha' thoughts. Emotions trickle through regularly; I 'spect it's 'cause I'm'mah Empath first an' ah mind-reader second."

"How did you get . . ." Samuel trailed off and wiggled his fingers near his head.

"It happened when I was little, 'round 'bout three." Wendy paused, looking out the window and observing while the car drove by the dark fields of nothingness, not even the moon was visible due to the cloud cover. "I was with my ma'. It was time for bed an' she was brushin' my hair—singin' while she did it, y'know, that song from tha' _Wizard of Oz_? Ma' always found it funny how much I liked that movie. But I remember her feelin' scared, eyes goin' all wide like when she looked at me . . . Glass broke, I think—I remember tha' sound, an' tha' Valtushard had found us."

"So, you've met them before? You could tell us what they look like?" Samuel fired off, his brow creasing as his mind raced in a million different directions, searching for the answers he didn't yet have.

"I remember that she was beautiful an' she touched my face—that was when I got tha' telepathy . . ." Wendy rubbed at her jaw, still feeling the bite of the sharp purple nails digging into her skin. "I wasn't good at keepin' everythin' under control, so I kinda' stole 'em, I guess . . . But then there was this light—all bright an' pretty, an' when it disappeared I was standin' in my Pops study." Wendy smiled faintly, remembering the look on her grandfather's face. "He was awfully surprised t' see me."

"I'm sorry about your mom." Samuel said gently, he glanced at her in the review mirror and offered her a small smile.

"An' I'm sorry 'bout yours." Samuel didn't even look surprised by her words, just took it in stride.

"You've been inside my head?" He asked rhetorically, already coming to the conclusion that she has.

"Yes. When I first met ya'll. I try not t' do that, but y' were lookin' for Grams." Wendy raised her silver eyes and met his own hazel ones that seemed to hold little sunflowers within them; surrounding the pupil with tiny petals. Her expression softened, "I know 'bout it y'know. It's eatin' at y'. Wanna' help people—but what y' doin' . . . it's tha' easy way, not tha' right way."

Samuel let out a choked scoff, shaking his head a little which rustled his mop of hair. "No offense Wendy, but you don't know me." He patronized the witch lightly, a scornful little smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I know ah' lot'ah thangs." Wendy met his gaze in the review mirror once more. She didn't appreciate the attitude she received from him, though Wendy supposed she understood. Here she was, a person he barely knew, telling him what was inside his head. People didn't like that, they weren't comfortable with having their actions, emotions and thoughts viewed they way she viewed them. "I know y' crave it, want it. Think about it all tha' time, makes y' fidgety; irritable." His annoyance at her flared. "It's makin' y' dark."

The glare he was giving her melted away into big sad eyes. Samuel looked back to the road and cleared his throat. "Dark?"

"Yea." She agreed softly, spotting the gas station on the left, watching as Samuel merged into the next lane over to pull into the complex and coming to a stop beside a gas pump. "Wearin' ah good mask, Samuel, but tha' cracks ah startin' t' show."

They sat together in the silence of the car.

"Don't—" he cut himself off. _Don't tell Dean._ "You can call me Sam." He said instead, looking at the small store connected to the gas station and twisted his body around to look at the blonde.

"I like Samuel." Wendy spoke softly so she wouldn't wake the older sibling.

He stared at her for a moment, brow furrowed up in thought, and after a beat of quiet, "You want anything?"

"Some water would be nice."

Samuel gave her a bob of his head and exited the vehicle, his tall lean form straightening and stretching once he was out before wandering over to the island dispenser to put the gas pump in the car, and then walking off towards the restroom while the fuel tank replenished itself. Wendy sat silently in the car, hands tucked away into the pockets of her jacket, the fingers of her right hand fiddling with the old copper key that hid there; running them along the nicked metal while watching the numbers tick over as Dean shifted twice—though not from another unpleasant dream; in fact he was quite happy and content.

She was smacked in the face with fury.

Wendy inhaled sharply and straightened in her seat, unclipping her seat belt, and scooted forward to lean her chin on the front seat beside Dean's head—frowning out the windshield into the dark to try and see if she could catch a glimpse of what was causing the wrath. Wendy hadn't seen Samuel enter the small store nor had he returned back to the car. She shed her walls the tiniest bit, immensely cautious as to not let the anger take hold. Wendy inhaled once more as her heart began to pick up in speed, clenching her jaw; the ire almost being able to mask the underlying hint of Samuel's pain that ached at Wendy's temple. The shield restored with a mental heave as the blonde turned and poked the side of Dean's face, shooting him with a blast of adrenaline.

"Holy—" Dean awoke with a gasp, screwing up his face in sleepy confusion as he stared bleakly at the blonde that's face was too close to his own.

"I'm ninety-five percent sure that Samuel's bein' attacked." Wendy told him sagely.

"What?" Dean rubbed his face, hearing the car door open and close. He followed after the Valkaras in a rush, striding around to the trunk of the car where Wendy was already stood and waiting. "Only ninety-five percent?"

"He could'ah slipped over an' is jus' real cranky 'bout it." Wendy gave the gruff man a small shrug. Dean rolled his eyes at the comment, popping the boot and reaching for one of the shotguns that was securely strapped in, swiftly undoing the restraints and closing the trunk—not even bothering to offer Wendy any form of protection, which was fine in the blonde's book because she didn't think she'd need a shotgun or the salt rounds it held within.

"Where'd he go?"

"Bathroom."

Wendy followed after Dean, quickening her steps to keep up with his long stride that was becoming increasingly frantic in the search for Samuel. The locked door to the small grimy restroom didn't stop him as he kicked in the flimsy barrier, firing off at the raging spirit who stood hovering over Samuel's tall form and watching it disappear into nothing.

Wendy stepped around Dean to crouch beside the younger sibling, reaching out and brushing her fingers against his brow and allowing the ache he felt to trickle into her—the throb of pain against her temple was immediate; constant, but she kept the connection as Dean hauled Samuel to his feet.

Samuel blinked down at her in surprise, "Thanks."

Wendy straightened Samuel's heavy jacket, dusting some lint off the sleeve. Her face brightened when she gave him a dreamy smile, "That's better." The blonde glanced up, watching his lips jerk as he literally looked down at her tiny form. Wendy's eyes narrowed slightly, "No short jokes, now." She wagged her finger up at him.

"I would never stoop so low." Samuel counted, lips stretching into a full blown grin while watching the witch's and Dean's face both scrunch up in distaste.

* * *

They got the whole thing with the witnesses done and dealt with after hiding out in the panic room for the majority of the day. The witch patched up Bobby extremely well when Ghost Meg jammed her whole freaking fist into his back, and when Dean asked where Wendy had learnt basic medical training she told him outright that she essentially photocopied the memories for her town doctor; said it like it didn't sound absolutely bat-shit crazy, and after her confession she knocked back a small vial filled with a thick green liquid like a shot of tequila, went on about how whenever she thought about the black market, she pictured an actual market with little stalls selling illegal things like nuclear weapons and organs. And then frolicked off to bed.

Dean didn't know whether to be impressed with Wendy or even more suspicious. Sure, she was immensely helpful when they were dealing with the ghostly rampage, easily knocking back the spirits of dead victims with that freaking Empath shit she could do. The quiescent blonde seemed to become more unhinged every time she used her abilities; prattling on about how she had a great aunt that stabbed her husband on their anniversary and he decided not to divorce her because he didn't want a custody battle over the pigs. Which freaked him the fuck out; knowing that she could take down something that wasn't even breathing any more sent a shiver down his spine, plus having the witch then become unbalanced didn't fill Dean with confidence. Seeing the way Meg's physical form contorted, the unnaturally pained wail she released as Mad Madam Mim worked her mojo over the spirit bought Dean enough time to shoot the chandelier above Meg, letting them make their escape. But fuck did watching the petite blonde do that terrify the crap out of him. In all honesty it made him want to drive her back to Eleanor's and throw her at the older witch all the while bellowing the word ' _Nope!_ '. Dean had enough on his plate dealing with trench coat guy, his brother acting shady, and dealing with the nightmares.

Bobby and The Good Witch of the North were both sleeping upstairs, with Blondie taking the only other available bed while Sam and Dean were made to deal with the floor and the couch. He awoke to the sound of fluttering, the sound resembling bird wings, and slowly blinked his eyes open; eyesight blurry as he looked around the darkened room for the cause of the noise. Rolling his head over to the kitchen and found a shadowed figure leaning against the counter, he was just able to make out the trench coat while his eyes adjusted to the dark. Dean stood slowly as to not wake Sam, knees groaning in protest whilst he moved towards the angel.

Dean wanted to punch the fucker in the face, glowering at the angel as he stalked closer to it. Why the hell was it showing up now, standing in Bobby's kitchen like it didn't have a care in the world? The angel's expression was vacant of any emotion, and Dean ran his eyes over it, looking for any sign of hostility and a weapon, though found neither.

"Excellent job with the witnesses." The angel's rough voice complimented with a tilt of its head.

"You were hip to all this?" Dean's brow lowered as he took another intimidating step closer.

The angel nodded, looking down awkwardly before flicking his blue gaze back to Dean. "I was, uh, made aware."

"Well, thanks a lot for the angelic _assistance_. You know, I almost got my _heart_ ripped out of my chest." Dean spoke harshly, keeping his voice low as he turned to look back at Sammy shifting position on the couch.

The angel looked him over critically, "But you didn't".

"I thought angels were supposed to be guardians," Dean ran his tongue along his teeth, his irritation leaking through as he watched the stoic angel not even bat an eye. "Fluffy wings, halos—you know, Michael Landon. Not dicks."

"Read the bible." Dean raised his brows at the sassy retort. "Angels are warriors of God. I'm a soldier."

"Yeah? Then, why didn't you fight?"

"I'm not here to perch on your shoulder." The angel shot back with a bite to its words, eyes flashing dangerously. "We had larger concerns."

" _Concerns?_ There were people getting torn to _shreds_ down here!" Dean growled back at it, watching as the angel gave a small sigh, like Dean's anger towards the whole situation wasn't just, which only motivated him to become even more agitated. "And, by the way, while all this is going on, where the hell is your boss, huh, if there is a God?"

"There's a god." Castiel replied immediately—protectively over a figure Dean didn't even want to begin to comprehend.

"I'm not convinced, 'Cause if there's a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the earth? The freaking apocalypse?" Dean listed off callously, voice deepening as he did so—watching the angel exhale while taking the verbal assault. "At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards that are _stuck_ down here?"

"The Lord works—"

"If you say 'mysterious ways,' so help me, I will _kick_ your ass." Castiel threw its hands up and thumped them back down on the counter at its back, lips pulled thin. It took Dean a moment to register what that meant; he almost wanted to laugh—because of _course_. He blinked hard—the fucking apocalypse. Dread gripped at him, as he meant the angels stare, finding it giving him a strained look. "So, Bobby was right, about the witnesses. This is some kind of a . . . sign of the apocalypse."

"That's why we're here." Castiel gave a slight nod. "Big things afoot."

"Do I wanna' know what kind of things?"

The angel raised a brow and a tilt of its head said: "I sincerely doubt it, but you need to know. The rising of the witnesses is one of the sixty-six seals."

"Okay." Dean squinted. "I'm guessing that's not a show at Seaworld." The angel's lips twitched ever so slightly at his sarcasm that Dean almost missed it.

"Those seals are being broken by Lilith." The angel informed Dean.

"She did the spell. She rose the witnesses." Dean concluded, realisation dawning on his features.

"Castiel hummed in agreement, "And not just here. Twenty other hunters are dead."

"Of course." Dean gave a scoff, "she picked victims that the hunters couldn't save so that they would barrel right after us."

"Lilith has a certain sense of humour . . ." Castiel trailed off, placing its hands into the pockets of the trench coat.

"Well, we put those spirits back to rest." It was done and dusted; taken care of. If they righted the wrong everything was good. That's how it's always has been for the brothers, but judging by the overwrought look on the angels face he knew that this time—from here on out it wasn't going to be simple any more. If simple was even the right word to describe the past.

Castiel's lips pulled down and gave a stiff shrug. "It doesn't matter. The seal was broken."

Dean felt himself crack just a little bit at those words. His jaw clenched as he brought himself to ask: "Why break the seal anyway?"

"You think of the seals as locks on a door." Dean watched closely as the angel looked reluctant to explain, eyes not meeting his as he stared it down.

" _Okay_. Last one opens and . . ." Dean probed impatiently, resisting the urge to tap his foot.

The angel stood to its full height, turning to face Dean with a blank face and tone neutral before speaking with finality, "Lucifer walks free."

"Lucifer?" Dean gave a small scoff, shaking his head, brows rising as he eyed the angel. "I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at demon Sunday school. There's no such thing."

Castiel's lips twitched in amusement, "Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as me." It paused for a moment, looking up at Dean who had a slight height advantage. "Why do you think we're here walking among you now for the first time in two-thousand years?"

"To stop Lucifer."

Castiel gave a slow nod, "That's why we've arrived."

Dean licked his lips with his head cocked to the side, sarcasm dripping from his voice while he leaned against the counter. "Well . . . bang-up job so far. Stellar work with the witnesses. That's nice."

"We _tried_. There are other battles, other seals. Some we'll win, some we'll lose. This one we lost." The angel's eyes narrowed as it watched Dean sneer and roll his eyes; taking a step close to the human, anger creeping into its tone as it continued to talk. "Our numbers are not unlimited. Six of my brothers died in the field this week. You think the armies of Haven should just follow you around? There's a bigger picture here. You should show me some respect. _I_ dragged you out of Hell. _I_ can throw you back in."

Dean swallowed, watching as the angel took a step back from him, receding out of his bubble and flicked its eyes heavenwards; a thoughtful look coming upon its face.

"I see you've met the Syphon. I've never had the honour of meeting one before." Castiel's mood did a complete one eighty, making Dean eye it warily.

"What?"

"The Vadalis."

"You mean Blondie?"

"Correct. Gifted by God himself, the fact that she is also a Valkaras is a strange coincidence." Dean opened his mouth to further inquire about the blonde, but the angel had vanished; leaving him alone in the quiet, dark kitchen with nothing else but the chaotic thoughts that swirled around in his head.

* * *

Wendy opted to stay with Bobby and let the boys go out on their own, leaving them to sort out their issues with each other and also any problems they had about her. Samuel was a little more open to having Wendy tag along with the two, whereas Dean wouldn't have any of it. After the fiasco with the witnesses he became adamant that she stay with Bobby, which she supposed that placing her in the care of Bobby was still looking after her in a roundabout way. Wendy hadn't received any calls from Grams during her stay as of yet and whenever she called home, there was no answer. That didn't mean that her disappearance from home went unnoticed; she received a dreadfully frantic phone call from both Danny and Marco two days into her stay with Bobby—her grandmother had informed her friends that Wendy was visiting her father due to his decreasing health, which Danny didn't believe for a second—hence the phone call and reassuring the both of them that she'd be home soon.

Wendy was terribly annoyed with the people around her thinking she needed looking after; the witch was more than capable looking after herself. Sure sometimes she had forgotten to take her draught in the two weeks of her stay with the older hunter, which led to her not sleeping. Or that living pretty much out in the middle of nowhere had slackened her control on her shields to virtually non-existent because Bobby alone wasn't as challenging to block. Other than that Wendy was perfectly capable person.

For example she had provided Bobby with real food to live off instead of whiskey and tinned soup. Every day she made him something new, trying out different recipes and having the older man be her taste tester; he didn't mind nor did he complain. In the last two weeks Bobby showed her how to fix up one of the cars that sat in the dirty yard out the front, the two of them worked on it together, keeping busy while taking a break from angel research. She missed Nancy, missed hearing his annoyed thoughts and just his general grumpiness at the world. Wendy found that taking apart a car engine was somewhat relaxing; to be able to concentrate on the little bits and pieces helped to focus her mind on one thing at a time.

Wendy was sat at a tall bench top under a covered area beside the house, fiddling with a car battery that she was almost positive she could get working again when the familiar voice sounded in her ear.

"The Winchesters? Really?" Gigi sneered. "It just had to be them."

Wendy swivelled lightning fast and latched her arms around his middle. "I missed ya'."

"Oh uh-huh, I'm sure." Gabriel muttered, leaving his arms at his sides as she got her fill of physical contact for the day. "Only gone for a few weeks, and you shack up with dumb and dumber."

"Don't be mean." Wendy pulled away from him, taking a step away with lowered brows. "Dean an' Samuel ah nice."

" _Samuel_." Gabriel mocked lightly, lips pulled downwards with the name being surrounded in a tangy green. Wendy shot a concerned look towards Mr. Glowy, thick eyebrows furrowing as she watched him muttered under his breath in a language she didn't recognise.

Wendy shrugged the reaction off. "An' how do'ya know 'em anyway?" She raised a brow, wiping her grease stained hands with the yellow rag that sat beside the battery; silver eyes darting back to Gigi as she watched the golden white light shine from him.

"We've met." The words rang yellow.

"An' y' here 'cause?" Wendy inquired kindly, head cocked to the side and observing him with wide silver eyes.

"Come for the accent, stay for the view."

Wendy hummed a little; pink words swirling around and making her stomach flip strangely before she pushed the feeling down, turning her back on him as she packed away the tools she had brought out. "I learnt somethin' new ah couple'ah weeks ago."

" _Ooh_ , something new," Gigi, grinned slyly. "Is it something _naughty_?" He wiggled his brows before sobering at the neutral look he had gotten. Eyeing her stance carefully (small fists bunched and resting upon her hips as she gave him a blank stare) he knew she wasn't exactly in the joking mood, and so with a snap of his fingers there was a box of glazed donuts in his hands that he held out towards the blonde.

Wendy raked her eyes over his glow-y form, watching it shimmer around his person and absentmindedly reached out to take the box from his hands while tracing the glow with her gaze; slightly mesmerised by the display. "Y' an angel." She murmured.

Gabriel turned his golden orbs away from her, hands stuffed into his pockets as he clicked his tongue. "Just a snack, sunshine. Everyone loves donuts. Didn't know it'd start making you think so highly of me."

"Stop it."

He sighed heavily, throwing his hand up dramatically. "Alright fine. I guess, _technically_ I am."

"An' you're maskin' 'round as ah Trickster." Wendy placed the donuts on top of the work bench.

Gigi rolled his eyes—not even phased by the fact that she knew, seemed quite pleased about it. "Yes, yes. I _know_."

"I know y' _know_ , but why?" She sassed lightly which Gabriel raised an eyebrow at; lips pursed and resisting the urge to tell her to roll back the attitude.

"Because." He shrugged.

"That's not'ah answer."

Gabriel scoffed, "Uh, yeah it is." Looking on as Wendy bent over to tuck the car battery away on a low dusty shelf; unashamedly checking out her ass as she did so.

"Y' ah' pain." Wendy bit her lip to hide the grin that pulled at her mouth as she straightened, but Gabriel caught it and sent a flirty wink her way.

"Only the best kind."

* * *

Twenty two years ago bells sounded off in Gabriel's head and he froze.

Which wasn't the best time for such a thing as his head was situated between Kali's thighs, and particularly busy at the time, so when he jumped away from her like she had burnt him, she was fuming. Demanded to know where the fuck he was going—not that Gabriel would have told her; he was too busy freaking out over the fact that he had a fucking _Masovas_. He high tailed it out of the hotel room, out of Paris, curses and insults following after him from Kali (he was fairly certain she had pegged a heel at him before he disappeared), but he brushed it aside—completely understandable; he would forgive that.

Gabriel found himself standing out the front of Touro Infirmary in uptown New Orleans at five o'clock in the morning, bells chiming in his head insistently as he walked into the building, following the noise that led him further into the quiet hospital and towards the birthing suite; finally coming to a stop at a wooden door that read _Room 5_ with the bells becoming silent. He didn't want to go in there, didn't want to acknowledge it. The door to the room was closed and that almost stopped him from going in. Gabriel rolled his eyes at his own hesitation and steeled himself before opening the door to find a woman with short dark golden hair curled up on her side and fast asleep; beside her was a bassinet where the sound of gurgling emitted from. It was almost like a bad horror movie as he made his way over to the bassinet (overly cautious) and peered down into it, preparing himself if he so happened to find some sort of slimy baby creature or those face sucker things from that weird ass Alien movie.

Nope.

Just a regular baby, he supposed. Gabriel resisted the temptation of poking at it with a stick, just to make sure. He scowled down at the infant girl, observing as she wiggled around with her silver eyes open wide. The moment she locked on to him she stopped moving.

"You little shit," Gabriel muttered down at the tiny baby while holding eye contact with her, a sneer upon his face as the child stared back at him blankly before finally giving him an exaggerated slow blink. He couldn't hold the expression for long as he watched the baby's lip begin to tremble. Gabriel rolled his eyes and picked the thing up, absentmindedly swaying her before she could scream down the hospital and looking down at the child to find that she was already staring at him in displeasure; making a little huffing sound like she was the one that had a reason to be annoyed.

He _hated_ the kid.

Gabriel immediately scoffed at the thought, not even being able to hold onto the idea for the time it took to go through his mind. He was already a- _fucking_ -ttached; letting out a heavy sigh, he ran his tongue over his teeth before frowning down at the baby and felt something tap against his being. Gabriel guardedly opened himself with the tiniest crack to the sensation, and almost dropped the kid when she projected her sleepiness on to him.

"Oh, _fuck_ me." Gabriel growled angrily, rolling his eyes skywards and glared at the ceiling, wishing it were his father. "Is this your idea of a joke? Are you trying to be funny? Because _this_ ain't funny."

Gabriel looked over to the name card that was stuck to the head of the bassinet, finding it bare. The woman in the hospital bed shifted and Gabriel hastily placed the child back into her borrowed bed, but the mother didn't wake.

"You look like a Wendolyn." He muttered as he leaned on the bassinet, gazing down at the baby and trying to stuff down the feeling of warmth that tugged at him.

Gabriel groaned and rubbed at his face.

* * *

 _I'm so excited! There's so many hints in here to Wendy's plot, I'm wondering if anyone will pick up on it. Let me know your theories!_

 _Another thing, it's my birthday! I'm glad I got this posted today; it feels like an achievement. I most likely won't post another chapter until after Christmas, so I'm wishing you all a Merry Christmas and I hope you all have a wonderful day._

 ** _Fun Facts:_**

 _\- Wendy's favourite colour is yellow._

 _-_ Masovas _,_ Valkaras _,_ Valtushard _, and_ Vadalis _are all words I've made up (don't pinch 'em)._

 _\- Touro Infirmary is a very real hospital in New Orleans._

 _\- Hag Stones (Holey Stones or Witch Stones): are stones that have naturally occurring holes. They're believed to be powerful protection talismans, and when worn or carried they protect the bearer from curses, hexes, negative spirits, and harm. Also believed that if you peer through the hole of the stone that you can see the Fae Folk. If one broke, it is thought to have used its power to try and protect a life._

 _\- The sigil upon the Hag Stone can be used to protect the wearier from those who would harm them._

 _\- Old metal keys are said to attract positive energy while simultaneously deflecting evil._

 _ **Pronunciation:**_

 ** _Masovas:_** _Mar-so-vas._

 ** _Valkaras:_** _Vall-cah-rass._

 ** _Valtushard:_** _Val-too-chard._

 ** _Vardalis:_** _Vah-dar-liss._


	7. Chapter Seven: Unlaced

_Hey peeps! Been awhile, I know, sorry about that-life get's in the way sometimes. I have been working on this chapter for awhile, and I'm pretty happy with it._

 _I haven't checked this over too much, so there might be a mistake or two lingering in here somewhere; if you find something please point it out so I can fix it! I'll be doing a check over and fixing up anything that needs fixing later in the week. I wanted to get this posted as soon as I could, so I couldn't wait for measly check overs._

 _There is a fair amount of dialogue from the show in this chapter too-just thought I'd let you guys know._

 _Shout out to_ Bren GailSaraELupinMamaChele81 _! It was so kind of you to review, thank you so much._

 _Reviews keep my motivated, so if you're feelin' kind, drop me one._

 _I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

 _"Insanity is everyone expecting you not to fall apart when you find out everything you believed in was a lie."_ _\- Shannon L. Alder_

* * *

 **Chapter Quote:** _"Don't ya'll move y' tushies!"_

* * *

Gabriel leant against the porch railing and watched the tiny blonde bend over to dunk the mustard coloured sponge into the red bucket; giving him a perfect view of her backside before he snapped his eyes away—scolding himself silently while glaring at the bucket. He had been standing there for about ten minutes; observing Wendy scrubbing down the front door of the old hunter's home completely oblivious to his presence in the late afternoon sun while she muttered words under her breath.

"Whatcha' doing there, sunshine?" Gabriel asked casually as if he hadn't been there for a while, and finally letting her know that she wasn't alone.

Wendy immediately straightened, glancing over her shoulder at the angel with wide eyes—acting like she had been caught doing something she shouldn't, before becoming a little defensive of the fact that he was here question her life choices. "Washin' tha' door."

"Uh-huh, I can see that." He commented flippantly, raising his eyebrows at her and lips twitching in amusement at her defensive tone.

"I do what I want." Wendy grumbled softly, brows creased with her nose wrinkled. She turned her back on him, and continued on with her task.

Gabriel happened to peek down into the bucket of water to see green leaves floating on the surface and copped a whiff of mint. "Is that peppermint in there?" He pointed down at the bucket.

"It's for luck." Was all she said.

"Luck?"

"Hunter's need luck."

"They sure do."

It was quiet for a few minutes as Gabriel watched Wendy go through the motions of dunking the sponge, wiping the door and repeating the task over again. It was strangely therapeutic to observe the girl do the simple chore of door washing—hearing the splash of the sponge hitting the minty water and the splat of liquid smacking against the wooden surface.

"If I were ah shifter," The girl spoke suddenly. "I would find'ah place that horses shouldn't be able t' get inta' an' turn inta' ah horse." Wendy let out a giddy cackle, shoulders shaking as she shook her head back and forth.

Gabriel's eyes lit up with delight, smirking at the thought of it and not at all bothered by her abrupt outburst. " _That_ is a fantastic idea." He wanted to try it out, see the reactions the scene caused; give it a whirl on the owner of that Italian place in town that thought it was a great idea to set up cameras in the bathroom stalls of the women's restroom.

The blonde's laughter died down into breathy giggles. Gabriel watched on contently while she proceeded to wring out the sponge and tip the water off the side of the porch, he could hear the sound of the liquid gushing down the water drain that hid behind a metal drum that was being used to stash rusted bits of car. This was the third time he had made his appearance known to Wendy all week. Gabriel decided to stick around once she told him she was alone the first time; the brother's off fucking up somewhere and the old man a state over taking care of a possession. Wendy had told him that she had offered to go with Bobby, which had Gabriel's jaw clenching and physically holding back the protective reprimand he wanted to give her—but Bobby had beat him to it apparently, wouldn't have any of it, saying something along the lines of: "No way in hell am I putting you in the same room as one of those black eyed bastards, you get on their radar and there'd be a feedin' frenzy, girl."

Gabriel couldn't agree more, though he was a little pissed that the three hunters decided to leave her alone even though they knew Wendy was currently being hunted down like an unsuspecting lioness. So he stayed; busying himself by messy around with the locals, popping out whenever the blonde seemed like she needed privacy. Though when he was away from her, Gabriel found his mind wondering again, but instead of thinking of his latest target, the angel's thoughts led back to Wendy. And then he was stuck wondering why he's thinking about her—which only seemed to get him thinking of Wendy even more as he tried to rack his brain for an explanation. It seemed to always occur after a visit, since the hospital they put her in, he hadn't made any contact—just watching from a distance, making sure she hadn't gotten herself into any trouble.

Gabriel prided himself on being able to get her out of a pickle. He had a top five: Doctor Larsher being number one and the time that idiot boy named Shaun tried to get handsy with her was number five; made sure every college application he sent out was rejected seeing as Wendy had already dealt the boy a fitting punishment. Gabriel had stayed with Wendy once she'd gotten out of the car, walked the long trek back to the old farm house right beside the little witch as she blinked back tears.

Being tethered to the woman for twenty-two years made looking out for her easier; the string that tied them together giving a little tug whenever she was upset or a mighty yank when scared—it also came in handy when he wasn't with Wendy twenty-four-seven.

The blonde picked up the dirty damp sponge as she walked by him, popping it into the bucket, kicking off her cowboy boots by the door and headed back into the house. Bells that she had recently tied on the door handle on the other side jingled as it swung open, revealing an unusually homey atmosphere to the house that wasn't there a week ago, and with no one there to stop her, Wendy went right ahead and made herself at home. Gabriel had noticed the little changes here and there, but apparently a lot can happen in the six hours he was away from her. The floor was freshly vacuumed, every surface within the home dusted, the books or anything that caused a mountain of mess was placed away nicely.

She was humming quietly as she stood at the stove, a massive pot of something bubbling away while she stirred; standing there in cut-off denim overalls and a bright yellow striped shirt. He wondered if Wendolyn Dawson had any idea of how much of a jackass he felt like when he looked at her, he couldn't deny that she's beautiful. Not pretty or cute, but beautiful and he knows that he's never really thought that before about any other being in his existence. And by beautiful he didn't just mean the outside, but the inside—it had been centuries since he had encountered someone who even tip toed the bar that Wendy had set.

He blamed these thoughts and feelings on that Masovas bullshit.

 _Ugh. Feelings._

When had those done anybody, _ever_ , any good? He's not really into that shit. But somehow he managed to get suckered into the Valkaras' weird ass drama—and as much as he wanted to write it off to his usual ungodly amount of curiosity, it was becoming more and more clear to him that he was so fucking attached that a day didn't go by without his mind wandering to her.

"I'm makin' supper, y' want some?"

"Sure thing, sunshine."

Supper ended up being Brunswick stew—technically Gabriel didn't need to eat it; he didn't require food to survive, but it was _good_ , so good that he went back for a second helping. As soon as he was finished and just able to stop himself from licking the bowl clean, it was taken from him and a small plate was placed down on the table with a decently sliced portion of chess pie sitting upon it. He gave Wendy a quick thanks while stabbing the creamy desert with his fork and withholding a groan as it hit the tastebuds of his tongue. The slight lemony flavour balancing the sweetness of the dessert; it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"Who taught you how to cook?"

"Marco." She answered while taking a bite of the desert.

"You heard from him?"

"Ah little." The blonde smiled brightly.

"You heard from Grammy?"

Wendy didn't answer straight away, her eyes becoming distant as she fiddled with the teaspoon against the small desert plate. She finally gave a little shake of her head. "I think she's ignorin' me." At the raised eyebrow Gabriel gave her she continued, "I've called an' called, an' called. There's never an answer—she calls Bobby though."

Wendy's eyebrows creased, eyes becoming glassy before she blinked the wetness away and looked down at her hands; picking at the chipped pink polish.

"Hey, maybe she just doesn't want to worry you." Gabriel leant forward and gave the blonde a reassuring smile; in return he received a tiny smile that didn't reach her eyes. In that moment Gabriel wanted to hunt down Eleanor Barrios and force her to call her fucking granddaughter.

* * *

The sound of a car pulling up in front of Bobby's house had the blonde tilting her head to the side as she stood at the counter, the knife she held slicing through the pink flesh, coming to a stop when it hit the pit, and listening in to the thoughts that came to her so easily. Placing the knife down beside the cutting board, she grasped the two sides of the furry flesh, twisted and pulled it apart to reveal the small burgundy pit of the white peach. Wendy bit into the fruit, the juices dripping from her finger tips, a trail dribbled down her chin while she glanced over at the kitchen clock that read eleven-thirty; she should really be in bed.

"—think it's really necessary." Samuel was saying as the boys walked into the house, pausing at the sound of the bells jingling on the door handle.

"That. _That_ weird ass shit is why we're back." Dean retorted, boots striding across the floorboards she had just finished mopping after Gabriel left earlier that night. The older of the two came to a stop just before the door way, peeking in to the small living room with Samuel coming up beside him. Finding nothing there, the two turned swiftly to find Wendy standing eerily still aside from chewing slowly on the piece of fruit she held; head still cocked to the side as she watched them unblinkingly.

Wendy could taste the tension from the two brothers as they stared back at her, and it wasn't due to their distrust of the blonde. The raw emotion rolling off the two barrelled into her; coursing through her body—her fingers twitching uncontrollably as she tried to not let it consume her and drag her into the pit of their despair. Images and thoughts seared into her mind, giving her a view to their adventures the last few weeks. Demon blood and fist fights, yelling and arguing. Around and around it went, almost too much to concentrate on anything else. She had gotten sloppy, weak during the time she was practically alone—cooped up in the deteriorating house with nothing and no one to keep her company but her own thoughts and memories replaying on repeat; the visits from Gabriel helped ease her on the days she became incredibly outlandish. Wendy didn't like Gabriel seeing her that way though, un-hinged and erratic; sometimes she wanted to tell him to leave, to go somewhere he couldn't see her unravel—but he calmed her like no one else, so it stopped her voicing her wants even though she was embarrassed to have him see her act oddly when she was in a downward spiral.

The three stood in silence for a moment too long before Wendy finally inhaled sharply—quietly, thankfully not inhaling the piece of fruit while she got control of the anger, calmed it until it no longer resided within her, only simmering within the other two. Building the walls up took a little effort, but she pushed them out, and had her shield remain strong. Blinking quickly her neutral expression morphed into one of open friendliness, giving the boys a soft smile.

"Hello."

"Hey," Samuel spoke for the both of them, clearing his throat as he tried to nonchalantly take in the clean room for anything suspicious.

"Bobby's lookin' for demons." She explained, watching Dean's boots carefully as he slowly entered the room. "I offered t' go with 'im, but he said 'no'." She paused, mouth thinned out as she continued to stare at the boots. "Ya'll better not be tracking dirt in 'ere."

"What?" Dean retorted, caught off guard by the question, and lifted his left foot to check. "No." He glanced up at the blonde, eyes wide like a child being scolded by their mother before he came back to his senses—focusing on who he was speaking to.

"Good . . ." Wendy trailed off in a murmur, taking a step towards the two, gazing at the boys—but unable to see them as her stare seemingly became faraway and distant. The witch cocked her head suddenly in a bird-like fashion, as if she had just overheard something, and Samuel had the inkling suspicion she was digging through their heads. His suspicions were confirmed when those silver eyes focused back on him. "I don't like her."

"Who?" Dean questioned before Samuel could change the subject and drag the conversation to something a little less tense.

"Ruby."

"Ruby?" The older brother repeated, frowning at the witch while taking a step towards her. "How the hell do you know about Ruby?" Wendy didn't say a word, her gaze flicking over to Samuel's briefly—managed to notice that the younger brother had his jaw clenched, before she met Dean's stare head on.

Dean began to chuckle, which was concerning because Wendy knew he was furious. The older brother gave his head at small shake, eyebrows raised and a sarcastic smile upon his lips as he turned to look at Samuel who stood a pace behind him. "You told her but not me." If the question wasn't rhetorical, Wendy might've answered, but Dean didn't want an answer—he already had it; the room was silent which only seemed to antagonise Dean further. "You told _her_ , but not _me_!"

"I didn't tell her anything, Dean!" Samuel defended; his voice equally as loud.

They argued, back and forth—bickering really, a little annoying but nothing she couldn't ignore. And ignore them she did, padding around the kitchen in her fuzzy pink socks, grabbing two bowls and filling them with the meal she and Gabriel had for supper; re-heating the meals in the tiny microwave that was hidden behind a box of cereal. Wendy had just finished making herself a tea when she became aware of a question being directed at her.

"You read his mind?" Dean asked with suspicion so clear in his voice that Wendy didn't need to let her walls down to feel it.

"Yes," A simple answer for a simple question, that was fair. Wendy placed the faded and discoloured oven-mitts upon her hands—musing that they were probably a pink colour years ago but had faded over time, and placed the steaming bowls onto the tiny kitchen table that already had cutlery waiting to be used. "When we first met."

" _That_." The older brother pointed his finger at her. "That right there is why I don't trust you."

"Tell me," Wendy picked her steaming mug up from the counter and sat at the kitchen table, gesturing from them to do the same while sipping from the hot tea. "That ya'll wouldn't have done tha' same thang in my shoes." The pair didn't move as she stared them down unblinkingly. "Go on, lie t' me." The blonde provoked.

"You're right," Samuel finally agreed, ignoring the irritated look his brother was giving him. "We would've."

Wendy gave him a dreamy smile then gestured towards the bowls, "Supper, there's plenty left, plus somethin' sweet for after."

Dean didn't move, but after a moment Samuel walked over and took a seat to Wendy's left; beginning to eat. Dean followed after Samuel's third spoonful—hanging his jacket upon the back of the chair and tucked into the meal, finishing before his younger brother and helping himself to seconds. The three were silent as the brothers ate, not that Wendy minded. The blonde sat between the two happily enjoying the company of anyone but herself. Having Gabriel stop by was a blessing, but Wendy assumed that the angel turned trickster had more important things to do then keep her company.

"Thanks for the food," Dean began, shifting in his seat before standing; refusing to meet her eyes—uncomfortable with having to thank her for anything. "But we're gonna' head off."

"Dean." Samuel muttered; his eyebrows pinching together as he looked up at his brother in disbelief.

"What? We came to check on Bobby, he's not here. We're good to go." Dean shot back, shrugging on the leather jacket he had draped over the back of the kitchen chair.

"Ya'll are just gonna' leave?" Wendy asked, shooting up from the chair, the hasty motion almost making her spill the hot tea in her hands. She placed the mug gently upon the table and turned back to the eldest brother. "Do y' have t' go? Can't ya'll stay awhile?"

"Uh, no. Got a case to look at over near Maumee." Dean dug into the pocket of his jacket for his car keys. "C'mon Sam."

"No, no. Please stay, it's too quiet here." Wendy panicked a little. She didn't want to be alone again. Being cooped up in the house was slowly driving her crazier then she already was. However, Wendy didn't know if she could be any crazier—or crazy for that matter as she remembered a man once telling her that crazy people didn't know they were crazy, and thought they were sane. So was Wendy sane and everyone else was crazy? Or was that just completely insane? "Y' can tell me what ya'll've been up t', and I'll make somethin'—ah pie! Right now." The flustered blonde glanced over at the kitchen clock that read quarter to twleve. "I'll start right now!"

"Dean, we can stay awhile." Samuel interjected quietly, breaking the blonde from her ramblings and shooting her a gentle smile.

"No Sam, we can't." Dean shot back angrily, turning his green gaze upon Wendy; watching her flutter around the kitchen, grabbing a mixing bowl from one the cupboards and piling ingredients onto the counter. Dean huffed in exasperation—his tone becoming annoyed, "Look, blondie—we've got better things to do then babysit. You stay here, okay? It's for your own protection."

The bag of flour Wendy had held in her hands tumbled to the laminated floor and she whirled on Dean at lightning speed, "Oh, _oh_!" Wendy's voice rose in pitch, she watched absently as the siblings eyebrows hiked up at her sudden outburst; her emotions running wild, shields leaking away to have the brothers anger enter her system. "For my _protection_! Gosh, that's jus' so _darn_ considerate of y'. Silly me." Wendy spat angrily, stepping away from the mess she had made and pacing the length of the kitchen, before coming to a sudden stop. Inhaling deeply had the anger that grabbed on to her, leak out of her body and allowing her to replace her shields.

Wendy walked out of the room without a word, avoiding Dean as she strode down the hallway to the little laundry that she had placed the dustpan and broom in. She was back in the kitchen as suddenly as she left, and began tidying the mess she had created.

A clearing of the throat sounded after she placed the spilt flour into the bin underneath the sink. "Look, until we get this whole witch thing sorted, you got to stay here. We had a deal with Eleanor, and we're gonna' stick with it."

Wendy narrowed her eyes at the eldest brother before they softened after a moment. "What my grandmother an' ah lot'ah other people don't seem t' realise is that I can take care of myself."

"Come with us." Samuel said suddenly, standing to his full height and digging his hands into his pockets.

"Sam—"

"What? Dean, being cooped up in here would drive anyone a little crazy." Samuel argued and then gestured towards the young woman. "Let her tag along for a bit. Stretch her legs, fresh air and everything. And when you're ready to come back," He directed at Wendy, "we'll drop you off back here."

Wendy's face brightened admittedly, "Really?"

"Sure, why not?" Samuel smiled back at her, and shot a look at Dean that had his older brother reluctantly nodding along with a grunt; rolling his eyes.

"Thank ya'!" Wendy darted for Samuel, wrapping her arms around his middle, his tall form towering over her small height, before she released him swiftly and gave the same treatment to Dean. "Thank ya', thank ya'!" Wendy stepped away from Dean, fidgeting as she looked around the kitchen hastily. "We'll take left-overs, an' I'll go pack. Don't ya'll move y' tushies!"

Wendy rushed upstairs, leaving the brothers to bicker amongst themselves. She stepped into the small bedroom that Bobby had kindly given her and began shovelling the clothes she had put away in the tiny closet back into her large overnight bag. Wendy pried her fluffy socks from her feet, stuffing them into one of the side pockets; telling herself that'd she'd wash them later. Hastily she dressed herself into a pair of thick maroon stockings and threw on the first item of clothing she found, which just so happened to be a dress covered in different types of birds that she had worn the other day—though it didn't seem to be dirty. Wendy finally finished tying the collar together when she noticed the drop of barbeque sauce staining it, she frowned at the offending spot—had the thought of changing before disagreeing with herself; believing that neither brother would appreciate waiting longer for her.

Hurrying back down stairs with her bag slung over her shoulder, Wendy met the brothers back in the kitchen and found that one of them had already packed the food into a few containers. The blonde smiled, grabbed a plastic bag to carry the food within before Samuel reached over to take the item from her hands.

"Got everything?" Samuel asked with a smile.

"Mhmm." Wendy nodded happily, turning off light switches while making her way to the front door, grabbing the house keys that sat upon the hallway table so she could lock up. She slid her feet into her cowboy boots that were still waiting for her on the porch while the brothers shuffled out of the house.

Dean walked over to the car, ahead of his brother before swiftly turning to grab Sam's arm and stopping him from jumping into the vehicle. He glanced over at the blonde witch, watching as she locked the door, "I don't trust her." Dean kept his voice low.

"Okay Dean," Sam sighed. "Any particular reason?"

"Alright listen, I just want to keep an eye on Blondie. Don't look, Jesus. Discreet isn't your middle name is it?" Dean scolded, a frown marring his features as Sam rolled his eyes and glanced over towards Wendy again. She placed the keys in an old pair of work boots that sat on beside the door before turning towards them.

"Ready!"

* * *

"I've never been t' ah morgue before." Wendy murmured, not expecting either of the brother's to respond as she followed Samuel and Dean down a corridor of the hospital towards the autopsy room to see the coroner. The three of them were wearing matching black suits, Wendy preferred wearing a skirt over pants, but relented to wearing the latter as they would be easier to run in, but had paired it with dark red heels. Dean wanted her to change them before they left, but Wendy refused, so Dean threatened to leave her at the dingy motel, but then Wendy had reminded him that she was their lie detector. The Valkaras had won.

Wendy wasn't particularly fond of hospitals; always becoming rather uncomfortable if she had to go to one—thankfully that didn't happened often. Though, Wendy reassured herself that they wouldn't be here for long, seeing as it was to only be a quick trip to see the body of a man whom the brother's had decided died suspiciously.

The trio came to a stop at a door that read 'Mortuary', Samuel pushed open the door and held it for both Dean and Wendy; the woman smiling up at him as she passed. The pathologist turned upon their entry, standing beside a sink and drying his hands with some paper towel; a frown marring his face.

"Can I help you?" The doctor asked as he reached for a pair of gloves, the latex snapping against his skin as he put them on.

"I'm Agent Tyler," Dean began, showing his fake badge along with both Samuel and Wendy. "This is my partner, Agent Perry and our trainee; Agent Rosenberg. We're here to look at the body of Frank O'Brien."

The pathologist frowned, was about to question why the FBI would be interested in seeing the body of a guy who had a heart attack, but Wendy quickly dispersed her shields and dampened his curiosity, replacing it with acceptance; the doctor didn't question them. "Well, alright. He's right over here." The doctor chuckled a little, moving towards the examination table that held a body bag upon it and handed a file over to Samuel who immediately opened it.

"Agents, meet Frank O'Brien." Wendy was stood beside Samuel just as the doctor opened the body bag. Looking down at the cold corpse in morbid fascination, Wendy found it unusual when she couldn't see the shining blue of Mr. O'Brien due to him being, well—dead. Out of the corner of her eye, Wendy watched as Dean grimaced down at the body, but then quickly wiped the expression from his face.

"He died of a heart attack, right?" Samuel inquired, shuffling on his feet and placing a hand into the pocket of his suit pants.

The coroner gave a nod and added, "Three days ago."

Samuel hummed, "But O'Brien was forty-four years old, and according to this," He opened the file the doctor had given him once more; Wendy peeked from beside his form to look at the pages within, "a marathon runner."

"Everybody drops dead sooner or later. It's why I got job security." The doctor retorted, clearly bothered by their line of questioning, though Wendy couldn't tell why unless she peaked into his mind—but, she didn't feel the need to pry into the man's head.

"Yeah, but Frank kicked it here." Dean jumped in, "Now, just yesterday, two perfectly healthy men bit it in Maumee. All heart attacks, you don't think that's strange?"

"Sounds like Maumee's problem to me." The doctor scoffed, frowning at the three. "Why's the FBI give a damn, anyway?"

"Tha' FBI ah looking inta' these death's t' see if they're related." Wendy answered, soothing the doctor's irritation and once again manipulating him to become more agreeable. "It _does_ seem awfully suspicious now, doesn't it?"

"Mm, well—when you put it like that." The doctor nodded along, thoughtfully.

Dean leaned around Samuel to frown at the witch, and then turned back to the doctor. "We just want to see the results of Frank's autopsy."

The doctor frowned once more, looking quizzically at Dean; no longer irritated with his insistence due to Wendy's gentle influence. "What autopsy?"

"The one you're gonna' do."

"Well, let's open him up." The doctor let out a giddy chuckle, moving towards a cabinet to gather equipment that would assist with the autopsy. He cheerfully hummed to himself, not thinking anything out of the ordinary as Wendy twisted the emotions he held inside. "You might want to put on some gloves, maybe an apron—it can get pretty messy."

The three followed the doctor's suggestion, with Samuel eyeing the coroner, then gave Wendy a look; his thought flittering through her mind: _You did something?_ The blonde gave him a tiny smile and moved back towards the table just as the coroner settled his tools beside the examination table. Wendy stood in between the brothers, watching on in interest as the pathologist made a swift slice down the middle of the chest to open up Mr. O'Brien.

"First dead body?" The coroner asked, pulling the flesh away from the torso to expose the ribs.

"Far from it." Dean replied with folded arms as he looked down at the corpse. Though Samuel didn't seem to be holding up as well as his older brother; the younger of the two shuffling his feet with a creased brow.

"Oh, good. Because these suckers can get pretty ripe—hey, hand me those rib cutters, would you?" The doctor gestured towards the metal tool with a slightly bloodied hand. Samuel took a fortifying breath before Wendy decided to calm his disgust by twisting and pulling at it until he finally stopped squirming, none the wiser to her actions. Dean handed the cutters over to the coroner, whom set to work cutting the ribs open with Wendy leaning forward to study his movements in curiosity; the bones snapping with each press of the cutters.

"Is that from a wedding ring?" Dean commented and gestured towards the tan line around O'Brien's ring finger that suggested the man was once partnered. "I didn't think Frank was married."

"Ain't my department." The pathologist commented, prying the ribs apart—the crack resounding in the cold sterile room.

"Any idea how he got these?" Sam inquired, looking away from the doctor's handy work to pick up Frank's arm which was covered in deep scratches; like someone went at the skin with a cheese grater.

"You know what?" The doctor asked rhetorically, sarcasm leaking into his tone. "When you drop dead, you actually tend to drop. Body probably got scraped up when it hit the groun—huh . . ."

"What?" Wendy lent forward, trying to see why the coroner seemed confused all of a sudden.

"Well, I . . . I can't find any blockages in any of the major arteries . . ." The doctor murmured, brows furrowed before smoothing out and gripping the corpses heart, breaking it off, and looked at it critically, then handed the organ to Dean as Wendy lent away from the body; eyeing the heart in a reluctant Dean's hand while he gagged—trying not to vomit. "Heart looks pretty damn healthy."

Samuel's amusement at his brother predicament knocked on Wendy's wall and she had to force herself not to smile along with Samuel's emotion. The pathologist made another cut within the body; blood suddenly spurting upwards and hitting the side of Samuel's face. Wendy's hand's flew up to cover her mouth, eyes wide and hoping Samuel didn't have the unfortunate luck of getting the liquid in his mouth.

"Oh, sorry. Spleen juice." The coroner didn't seem at all sorry, fighting against smiling at Samuel's predicament.

"Y' got ah little—right here." Wendy gestured to her cheek, and stamped on Dean's foot when she heard him snigger.

* * *

The trio sat in the chairs provided at the sheriff's station, the deputy's desk right in front of them with said Deputy standing there and smiling at Wendy whenever he happened to meet her eyes. Wendy crossed her ankles, humming quietly as she sat and waited beside Dean; his fingers tapping out the beat of the Pink Floyd song she was humming, seemingly without him consciously knowing it. The moment was broken by the door to the sheriff's office opening.

"Hell's bell's Linus," The sheriff grumbled, stomping into the waiting area, "have you seen my—who are they?" The older man paused in his reprimanded, facing the three in confusion.

"Federal agents. I, uh—" Linus stumbled over his words, nervousness over coming the younger man.

"And you kept them waiting?" The sheriff said looking quizzically down at the Deputy.

"You, you said not to disturb—"

"Come on back." The older man cut him off and gestured for the trio to follow him into the office, but not before quickly halting them, "Shoes off." Wendy frowned down at her shoes, not too fond of walking around bare foot with no socks to cover her feet. Samuel and Dean kicked their shoes off without hesitation—like people asked them to do it often and walked into Sheriff's office; Wendy quickly followed—losing a few inches after toeing off her heels.

"Al Britton. Good to meet you." Sheriff Britton introduced himself, shaking their hands—though frowning down at Wendy as she tried to keep herself from letting her shields down at the physical contact, and accidentally absorbing something she didn't want. He finally gestured for them to take a seat, but with there only being two seats, Wendy opted to stand, wandering over to the shelving to look at all the personal items the Sheriff had placed there. Wendy counted fifteen softball trophies, a picture of his wife and children, but he had several photos of himself with a small group of men—one of those men being Frank O'Brien.

A potent smell of alcohol perfumed the air causing Wendy to look over towards the group of men, seeing the Sheriff squirting a large amount of hand sanitiser into his palm, and slathering it upon his hands and past his writs. Anxiety consumed the Sheriff, his thoughts and emotions managing to slip into Wendy's mind and informing her about all the diseases that could be transmitted through a simple hand shake. Wendy fought off the urge to snatch the sanitiser and rub the gel into her own skin to fend off any germs that lay upon her hands; hastily reinforcing her shields so it wouldn't happen again. From the corner of her eye Wendy watched Dean shoot Samuel a quick glance, lips pulling downwards to form an odd look on his face.

"Okay. So, what can I do for uncle Sam?" Sheriff Britton asked, popping the sanitiser back into his top drawer.

"Y' knew Frank O'Brien." Wendy stated plainly, pointing towards a photo watching the Sheriff's face fall at the mention of the man as Samuel and Dean turned to face the blonde. Dean looking at the picture she pointed out with a thoughtful look.

"Yeah, what of it?" Sheriff Britton answered curtly, his forehead wrinkling together as he glowered at the young woman. Wendy stared back, allowing her shields to fall away too easily to listening in on the thoughts of the Sheriff. Britton didn't like her, which was obvious and not really all that surprising considering he didn't think females should be working within law enforcement, thought that that kind of work should be 'left up to the men'. Wendy felt his annoyance towards her grow, but did nothing to quell it, not wanting to waste her energy on a walnut like him.

"We're looking into the death of Frank O'Brien. We understand some of your men found his body." Samuel interjected, which had the Sheriff breaking eye contact with Wendy. Samuel shared another look with his brother before both eyed off the sheriff.

"They did." Sheriff Britton responded slowly. "And yeah, me and Frank—we were friends. Hell, we were gamecocks." Dean snickered, which earnt him a frown from Samuel and Wendy while the Sheriff gave him a stern look; his eyebrow raised. Dean opened and closed his mouth; embarrassment washing over Wendy as she wandered over to his chair, and stood beside it as Dean helplessly stared wide eyed at the Sheriff.

"That's our softball team's name." Sheriff Britton went on, grief becoming clear in his features, the emotion washing away Dean's and sliding over Wendy's skin. The blonde's silver eyes prickling with tears that she had to force herself to blink back; shoving the emotion from her person before taking a deep breath and leant a hand on the back of Dean's chair. Wendy watched as the older brother nodded along to the Sheriff, possibly not wanting the older man to kick them out or think that Dean was causing further offense. "They're majestic animals. I knew Frank since high school. To be honest, just this morning I got up the strength to go see him. Frank was. . . He was a good man."

Dean hummed in agreement, smiling a little, "Yeah. Big heart." His comment earned a flick of the ear from Wendy that the Sheriff didn't notice, but made Dean flinch and tighten his jaw.

"Before he died, did you notice Frank acting strange? Maybe scared of something?" Samuel inquired, ever the professional and ignored the pair beside him.

"Oh hell, yeah." Sheriff Britton leant forward, folding his hands upon his desk. "Real jumpy."

"You know what scared him?"

With a shake of his head, the Sheriff answered, "No . . . wouldn't answer his phone. Finally, I sent some of my boys over to check on him, and well—you know the rest." The older man finished, coughing a little and reaching over towards his top drawer, pulling out the sanitiser once again and pouring a hefty amount onto his hand. Wendy's brow creased while she watched the Sheriff rub the gel into his skin.

"So," Sheriff Britton began once he was satisfied with his handy work; deeming his hands officially sanitised. "Why the Feds give a crap? You don't really think there's a case here?"

"No, no." Dean answered hastily, "It's probably nothing. Just a heart attack."

They left the Sheriff's station after that, not wanting the stick around for too long; mostly because they didn't want questions directed at them when they didn't have the answers to those questions. Wendy trailed after the brothers, making their way over to the Impala, and thinking through the encounter with the Sheriff. The man was most definitely grieving, which had Wendy assuming he had nothing to do with Franks death, but the Sheriff was jittery—anxious, he didn't strike Wendy as a neat freak or a germaphobe, and for someone to play sports; which equalled dirt and sweat, it would be very unlikely for that person to be so concerned with germs.

"No way was that just a heart attack." Dean stated as the trio crossed the quiet street, heading towards where they had parked the Impala with the accompaniment of Wendy's heels clicking as they walked.

"Definitely no way." Samuel agreed readily, "Three victims, all with those same red scratches. All went from jittery to terrified, to dead within 48 hours."

"Something scared them to death?" Dean suggested shrugging his shoulders, avoiding a man who brushed pass him.

"All right, so what can do that?" Samuel asked.

"What can't? Ghosts, vampires, _chupacabra_? It could be a hundred things." Dean listed, becoming a little exasperated by the whole situation.

"Yeah. So, we make a list and start crossing things off."

"Alright, who's the last person to see Frank O'Brien alive?" The older sibling probed.

"Uh, his neighbour, Mark Hutchins." Samuel replied.

"Ya'll don't think that tha' Sheriff was actin' ah little . . . off?" Wendy finally interjected, coming to a halt, the brothers copying her actions. She was looking across the street at the park that had children squealing and running around—parents watching on from the sidelines. Wendy felt the urge to amble over and join in with the carefree fun they were having; she wondered what it would feel like to just be a child, a child who couldn't do the things she could do. Though, she supposed she'd never know—she was stuck with who she was and Wendy wouldn't give it up, because if she did it would only lead to someone else taking her place and being forced to be slowly driven insane by what she was able to do. And Wendy wouldn't wish that fate upon anyone.

"What'd'ya mean?" Dean shot back at her; pulling Wendy out of her own head. She looked towards him and found Dean eyeing her with his brows raised.

Wendy gave a sleepy blink, "Well, he was anxious—an' tha' sanitiser an' everythin' jus' seemed ah little odd." Wendy stumbled with her words, becoming a little unfocused by the overwhelming amount of people around her and winced when a car horn sounded not too far from the trio; the sudden noise jarring her and echoing in her ears.

Dean shrugged, looked over at his younger brother then back to the blonde, "Yeah, sure—the guy was a little weird. Maybe's he's got a thing about germs."

"I dunno', Wendy's got a point. He did know Frank." Samuel interjected, frowning off into the distance as he thought.

"Okay, so we keep an eye on him. He starts acting weirder, than we do something about it." Dean turned to start walking again, only to take a step before pausing—stopping Wendy with a hand upon her shoulder from strolling on. "Hang on, hang on."

"What's wrong?" Wendy asked, watching the eldest sibling fidget, green eyes flicking over towards the Impala that stood a few meters away, before they quickly became downcast. Wendy felt the prickle of embarrassment and anxiety roll through her which had her frowning in concern at the older sibling.

Facing Samuel, Dean leant closer to the two and spoke quietly, "I don't like the looks of those teenagers down there." Wendy and Samuel spotted the teens hanging around about a foot away from the car, looking to be doing nothing more than talking to each other.

"Oh, darlin'." Wendy sympathised, grabbing a hold of Dean's hand and making sure not to let her walls slip; the skin contact helping her focus in weaving his emotions and drawing the unnecessary anxiousness out of his body. "There ain't nothin' t' be scared about." Wendy tugged Dean along once she felt him relax, though he still seemed a little reluctant, but followed after the tiny blonde as she paved the way through the teenagers and towards the car.

"I wasn't scared." Dean grumbled, squeezing her hand like he was terrified she'd let go.

* * *

 **Fun Facts: Wendolyn**

 _\- Doesn't watch a lot of television._

 _\- Is overly affectionate and a 'glass half full' type of person._

 _\- Favourite movie/book is_ The Wizard of OZ

 _\- Comes from a long line of powerful witches._

 _\- Grandfather died in a car accident when she was fourteen._

 _\- Has a very nurturing personality._

 _\- Born on the 27th February, 1986._

 _\- Is a Pisces._


	8. Chapter Eight: Fever

_Hey! I'm still alive. I know I haven't updated this in a while, but I've been working on this chapter slowly due to just moving to a new state and also not being in my own home just yet. I'm also working on another story;_ Sanity Is Poison _, which is just me sticking Wendy in the_ Walking Dead _universe and hoping for the best. The first chapter is up if anyone wants to read it ( **a warning that it is graphic and deals with very serious situations** )._  
 _I'm sorry for the wait, don't hate me!_  
 _I admit, I haven't looked over this for mistakes. And this chapter is quite long, but I really love this chapter and the banter that happens with the characters. So I hope you all enjoy it to._

 _If you're feelin' kind leave me a review!_

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

 _"Do you know why you're here? Shall I tell you why we brought you here? To cure make you sane."_  
 _-George Orwell_

* * *

 **Chapter Quote:** _"Yeah, alright. We heard you the first time. Three down and ninety-seven to go."_

* * *

 **1995 Shreveport, Louisiana**

"We're going to try something a little different this evening, Wendolyn." Doctor Larsher began, a seemingly warm smile upon his features; but Wendy knew it as a lie. It was always a lie.

Wendy sat in the small room. I was cold, clinical; smelled like—well she didn't know what it smelled like, but if she had to really try to explain it, Wendy supposed she would say the scent was like a zap. Resembling when she would slide her feet across carpet and then touch metal; the scent hit her in the face every time she inhaled; she didn't like it. The little girl wanted to leave, wanted to go back to her little bedroom in the children's ward and just stay there, to never leave again. But instead, Wendy was here sitting at a small wooden table in an uncomfortable chair; the padding too hard to offer any kind of cushioning and staring at the camera that the doctor had set up to document their sessions as of late.

The room itself offered no solace, the walls too plain, the atmosphere too taut. The toys that littered the floor to her left didn't look like they were meant to be there; just dumped in the middle of the floor trying to look inviting, but the inanimate objects only made dread fill up inside Wendy.

"You're a curiosity, Wendolyn." Doctor Larsher continued, giving the young girl another smile that curled Wendy's insides in a painful grip. "And I want to see how much so."

A knock sounded lightly at the door, and in strode a nurse, Julia. She was young—pretty—with bright blonde hair, her dark roots just starting to show and light green eyes that held a dark glimmer within them. Julia was an easy target for the doctor to manipulate to his liking. Wendy's skin tingled weirdly, stomach tightening as Julia gave Doctor Larsher a slow smile. The young girl didn't know what the feeling was, though she knew that adults were the only ones who experienced the sensation.

Julia's cold gaze shifted to the child at the table.

Wendy visibly shrunk in her seat, tyring to make herself seem smaller than she already was. She didn't like Julia. Whenever Wendy was in the nurse's care, Julia was always a little too rough, dragging her around, forcefully sticking pills into her mouth or unnecessarily locking Wendy into the tiny padded room the doctors and nurses called The Quiet Room whenever the nurse deemed Wendy as overly difficult for the day. Though the thing that unsettled the little girl the most were the violent thought that belonged to the nurse that wandered into her mind whenever Julia was present. It was like short movies of Julia wrapping her fingers into Wendy's hair and throwing her against the wall—of gripping a food tray and bringing it down upon the twelve-year-old boys head from down the hall. Wendy could only praise the clearly violent nurse for her self-control.

"Good evening, Doctor Larsher." Nurse Julia snapped her gaze back over to the intimidating man and smiled sweetly; a pretty maroon twining with pink as her words coloured in Wendy's mind. Wendy didn't know what that meant, she hadn't figured out what most of the colour's meant yet; however, she did know that bright red mean angry—which was something Doctor Larsher became whenever Wendy didn't give the outcome he wanted during his tests.

"Ah yes, Julia. So good of you to join us." the doctor greeted amiably and gestured for the young woman to sit opposite Wendy at the table. "You remember what we discussed earlier?"

"Yes." Julia nodded, taking the seat as requested, staring Wendy down liked the little girl was an opponent of some kind. Wendy averted her eyes and fidgeted; she fought the urge to lift her legs and curl into a ball—doctor Larsher hated when she did that though. Last time he had jabbed her with a needle, made the skin around the puncture sore and bruised for a week from the force of it.

"Good," the doctor gave a nod. "put your hands in the middle of the table." Larsher picked up a notepad as he came around the table to stand behind Wendy, leaning forward to speak softly in her ear. Wendy forced herself not to flinch. "Now, you're going to do exactly what you did to me to the nurse. If you don't, I put you in the chair. Do you understand, Wendolyn?"

The child gave a hasty nod. She wanted him to move away; she didn't like him so close.

"Good girl." said the doctor.

The young girl tearfully meant the nurse's steely eyes. "M'sorry." small hands shot out and latched onto Julia's. Wendy's jagged and bitten fingernails dug into the older woman's tanned flesh as memories, emotions, thoughts swam through Wendy's mind.

In just a few seconds Wendy knew every miniscule detail about Julia. Every thought the woman had, every emotion that she had ever felt was all the tiny little girls now. Memories swirled with Wendy's own—Julia screaming as a child while her father hit her for trying to throw away a beer bottle that he hadn't finished drinking. That same child burning the family dog with the blowtorch she found in their garage; watching in glee as the canine fur caught alight and whimpers escaped the animal. Elven and being held down in the bathtub as her elder brother repeatedly dunked her under because he thought it was funny. Smashing in an ex-boyfriend's windshield when he booted Julia out of their apartment. So many memories coursed through Wendy's mind that she ripped her hands away from the woman and covered her head with her arms—as if that would stop the images from playing over and over.

"Very good, Wendolyn." Doctor Larsher chuckled, clapping his hands together; the sound causing Wendy to start in her seat. "That will be all Julia, thank you."

Julia stared wide eyed at the child before her, the woman's face drawn and pale, though seeming to come back to herself at the sound of Larsher's voice. Julia got up and left without a word. Leaving the other two occupants in a silent room. The only sound Wendy could hear was the soft scratching of the doctor's pen against his notepad. Larsher was still stood behind the girl, which had Wendy wanting to turn around and face him, but she was terrified to do so. If she turned to look, what would she see? Would the doctor morph into something else even more horrifying or was her imagination running away again? Wendy sniffled as he came around the table, his confident foot falls sounding in the tiny room.

"Tomorrow will be the same. We'll be having someone new come in. A very good friend of mine." Larsher smiled widely, eyes glimmering darkly before clasping his hands upon the table. "Now, I'm going to ask questions about Julia and you're going to answer them for me."

* * *

"Found him," Samuel announced, writing down the address of Mark Hutchins before closing his laptop just as the waitress came back around with their orders. A burrito was placed in front of Dean, with a Greek salad for Samuel and a hot fudge sundae for Wendy.

They sat at a booth in a little diner, the place was a lot smaller than Marco's, but the atmosphere was the same and had Wendy missing her place of employment and the friends she had there. She wondered how long this whole endeavour would take. She missed Danny and Marco, she missed being invited to their home for dinner and having the two bicker at each other the whole time she was there. She missed Joyce's motherly gaze and words of advice when she asked for it. But mostly she missed her grandmother. Wendy would try to call again after they speak to Mr. Hutchins but feared that she would only be ignored once more.

Perhaps she should just go home. Surely her grandmother wouldn't be too cross with Wendy just strolling through the front door of the old farmhouse. But what if she was? Or what if Grams wasn't there? Maybe she was already off hunting the Valtushard? And if she was, what was Wendy to do, would she follow her grandmother after being given strict instructions to stay away or would she blatantly ignore Gram's words?

Dean's knee bumped into her own as he twitched beside Wendy, knocking her out of her internal conflict. He hadn't really left her side since leaving the Sheriff's station—which was something Wendy considered as strange because of his flagrant untrusting nature beforehand. She wanted to know why. It would be so easy to tear down her walls to shift through his thoughts and see what was going on inside that brain of his. The temptation was high, but Wendy withheld. She didn't think she's be able to justify that to anyone, even herself. Besides, the witch figured that she had seen enough of his thoughts and memories; she didn't need to invade his privacy over something so small. So instead, Wendy watched him eye off his burrito like it had teeth, as if it would maul him at any moment.

"Uh, okay. We'll head over after food." Dean said, frowning down at the burrito in his hands—still looking at it in a distrusting manner. "How likely am I to choke and die of this?" He questioned to no one in particular.

"One in three thousand, four hundred an' eight die chokin' on food." Wendy responded nonchalantly, spooning a large portion of ice cream into her mouth and frowning a little at the hot fudge that was no longer hot. She had no idea where she got the statistic from, having it pop into her mind at the end of Dean's question. Wendy assumed that maybe she had stolen the memory from another long ago, but she didn't linger on the thought; not wanting to bring forth anything she tried ever so hard to forget.

Dean mulled over her words for a moment then shrugged and with a soft "What the hell," took a large bite out of his lunch. "Careful with that." he spoke after chewing delicately, watching while she at the fudge.

Samuel openly stared at his brother and the witch from across the table, a crease forming between his brows as he squinted at the pair. Confusion rolled from the younger sibling as he watched on, letting the two interact in their own unusual way while he took a bite from the meal he ordered.

"It's fine." Wendy paused, playing with the hot fudge that donned her sundae, pulling at it with the spoon. The sugary liquid becoming tacky since being placed upon the cold treat. "Why do they call it hot fudge? By tha' time it hits tha' ice cream it's too cold t' run an' then y' jus' get'ah blob of chocolate that ain't goin' nowhere." Wendy eyed the next lump of chocolate she scooped; sitting upon her spoon, she turned it upside down; unsurprised when it didn't budge.

"You should be careful," Dean repeated, ogling her dessert warily. "Could still be hot."

"But it ain't." Wendy waved her fudge covered spoon near his face that had him flinching away even though the food hadn't moved an inch.

"Son of a—you could've melted my face off!" Dean said dramatically, leaning away from the blonde and shuffling so that the space between the pair was bigger than it was before.

"You alright, Dean?" Samuel asked, brow raised and completely baffled by his brother's sudden interest in the witch's safety, not to mention the extreme anxiousness of sticky desserts.

Samuel was well beyond understanding what was going on. He frowned at the witch, but she only met his stare head on with an owlish blink. Samuel had his suspicions that Dean's behaviour as of late had something to do with the case, and less to do with the witch that was sat next to his brother. He may not have known Wendy for long, but he didn't see how she would benefit from having Dean cling needily to her whenever he got spooked by something stupid; which was starting to happen regularly.

"I'm fine!" was Dean's gruff reply.

"Right." Samuel deadpanned. "Let's just finish and get going."

"Sammy, calm down. If we eat too fast, we'll choke. If we choke, we die." Dean turned back to Wendy. "What was the number again?"

"One in three thousand, four hundred an' eight." the witch repeated, popping a huge spoon full into her mouth; her cheeks puffing outwards due to the food. Dean raised his brows at his younger brother—as if to say ' _See?_ '

Samuel only returned the gesture with an eye roll. "Don't you think you're being dramatic?"

"No." Dean scoffed.

They finished their food as quickly as they could with Dean telling them to slow down and left the diner with the eldest sibling leading the way at a swift pace. He had taken one look at the darkening clouds that hung above; muttering something about getting struck by lightning. Samuel hung back with Wendy, though he could've easily stridden forward to catch up and leave the witch to lag behind the siblings. Samuel slowed his step just a smidge more—so Wendy didn't have to quicken her already fast pace to keep up; her lips stretching into a bright smile to show her thanks.

The car ride over to Mr. Hutchins house was short and in a matter of minutes the trio sat parked out on the curb in front of the house. Dean didn't move, clutching the steering wheel in his hands to the point that his fists turned white. Wendy sat quietly in the backseat of the car, torn between easing Dean's nerves or leaving him alone. Waves of anxiety bowled into her from the elder sibling. It was like someone had dunked her head beneath a water's surface before quickly letting her up for breath, only to dunk her back under again. She stopped herself from bringing down her wards by digging her fingernails into the palms on her hands; focusing on the pain to stop from letting them crumble.

"You good?" Samuel asked, his brow wrinkling as he looked over at his older brother, throwing a hasty glance back at Wendy before snapping his gaze towards Dean. It was an unspoken hint, a request. Wendy knew she didn't have to, but she wanted to—it was a struggle to lower the walls just a little, just enough to get Dean to relax somewhat before she filled in the gap with what could only be described a brick slotting back into place and cementing itself in.

"I'm fine, stop mothering me." Dean bristled, sliding out of the Impala with ease and slamming the door behind him, waiting on the sidewalk for the other two to join him and occupying himself by frowning at a dog that was tied to streetlight just a few metres from where he stood.

"Thanks," said Samuel softly.

Wendy hummed in acknowledgement. "This ain't normal behaviour, is it?" she questioned just as quietly.

Of course, she already knew this—but Wendy still felt the need to have this confirmed for her; just to be absolutely sure that this was most certainly odd. She only received a single nod before they before climbed out of the vehicle to join Dean. The trio made their introductions to Mr. Hutchins, who was a portly man with a jolly disposition, and had open his door with a python that was draped upon his shoulders while they explained themselves.

As they stood out on the porch, the witch watched as Dean grew more and more uncomfortable standing out in the open; continuously eyeing the darkening clouds above them. Wendy followed his gaze upwards, the both of them standing behind Samuel as he spoke with their heads titled back to look up at the sky.

The sky did look a little cranky, so Wendy supposed she could understand Dean's unease. No one ever really liked to be rained on, especially when wearing a suit. Plus, wet socks were never comfortable, and Wendy didn't like the idea of being struck with a cold.

The sound of Samuel clearing his throat had Wendy straightening her position as Dean jumped at the sudden noise. Samuel gestured to the open door and walked through. Dean shuffled over to the doorway and peeked in before pulling away, looking a little stricken.

"Y'gonna' be fine, honey." Wendy said softly so that neither Mr. Hutchins nor Samuel could overhear.

Dean nodded along to her words and stepped through the doorway after he took a steading breath. Wendy followed after him, walking into the home that was filled with various reptiles. Ah. She now understood Deans apprehension before. Wendy didn't mind reptiles, and she always found snakes to be oddly mesmerising with the way they moved; almost that a belly dancer, she supposed.

"Tyler and Perry, "Mr. Hutchins commented, gesturing for them to take a seat. The three were cramped together on the small love seat. "Just like Aerosmith—and that witch from _Buffy_." The large man grinned happily while petting the snakes head. Wendy didn't know what _Buffy_ was, but gave the man a sleepy smile, watching as he lovingly stroked his pet. She felt the affection Mr. Hutchins held for all the reptiles in his care, and the emotions had Wendy feeling warm and gooey on the inside.

Dean shifted in-between Wendy and his brother, scrutinising the room with apprehension. The witch tried not to frown at the oddness of it all, she had only known Dean for a short amount of time, but she had also been inside his head and she couldn't fathom why he had this sudden change in personality. The strangeness surrounding the sudden change had her more concerned then what she'd usually be. Surely there was something more to it?

"Yeah, small world." said Samuel, hastily brushing aside Mr. Hutchins comment and leaned forward on the loveseat, elbow resting upon his knees as he did so. "So, the last time you saw Frank O'Brien?"

"Monday. He was watching me from his window. I waved at him, but he just closed the curtains." said Mr. Hutchins, frowning at the memory and looking somewhat dejected. Wendy watched the sunny yellow colours of the cheerful man's words as he spoke, the truthfulness of them as clear as day to no one else, but her. A slight nod from Wendy to a watchful Samuel told him the legitimacy in Mr. Hutchins retelling.

Samuel hummed, "Did you speak to him recently? Did he seem different? Uh, scared?"

"Oh totally." Mr. Hutchins nodded vigorously. "He was _freaking_ out." Wendy discreetly side eyed the elder sibling at the moment Samuel did. Dean sat stiffly in-between the two; mildly panicking and taking shallow breaths—his anxiety wiggling into the cracks of her shield and making her twist her fingers together before she noticed and pushed him out. Sweat beaded upon his forehead, and Wendy had to restrain the urge to dab at his brow with the handkerchief that sat inside the pocket of the blazer; lest he swat her hand away.

"Do you know, uh . . ." Samuel paused, as if searching for a better way to phrase the question—wincing for a moment when he found none. "Do you know what scared him?"

Wendy on the other hand was becoming increasingly worried by the elder brother's freak out, she wanted to reach over and grasp his hand to stop him from constantly rubbing his palms against the fabric of his suit pants. She knew she'd have better control if she had the physical contact, but Wendy withheld herself from doing so. No, no that wouldn't be appropriate in front of someone they were questioning. But she allowed her wards to slip again, calming Dean enough to stop the fidgeting—smoothly, quickly, before slamming them back over her mind with a weary sigh.

"Well, yeah, witches." Mr. Hutchins spoke, amusement colouring his tone as he shrugged.

Wendy snapped her head up so fast it almost looked unnatural, "Witches?"

"Like . . ?" Samuel prompted, leaning forward and resting his elbows upon his thighs.

"Well, _Wizard of OZ_ was on T.V. the other night, right?" Mr. Hutchins explained. "And he said that green bitch was totally out to get him."

"Oh," Wendy grinned, clasping her hands together in her lap, "I _love_ that movie!"

Samuel cleared his throat, a small tug of his lips the only thing that gave away his amusement at the witch's outburst. "Anything else scare him?"

"Everything else scared him." The jolly man shrugged and listed: "Al-Qaeda, ferrets, artificial sweetner. Those pez dispensers with their dead little eyes. Lots of stuff."

"An' Frank? What was he like? Wendy asked, watching on as Mr. Hutchins shifted a little in his place upon the overstuffed armchair.

His forehead became wrinkled while he took a great interest in the floor beneath them, "I mean he's dead, you know? I . . . I don't want to hammer him, but—he got _better_."

"He got better?" Samuel asked.

"Well, in high school he was . . . he was a dick."

Wendy's mouth pulled down into a frown at the word.

"A dick?" Dean tuned back into the conversation, finally taking his eyes away from one of the snakes in the glass enclosure to their left.

Mr. Hutchins nodded along. "Like a bully. I mean, he probably taped half the towns butt cheeks together." He muttered the last part, though not low enough for the elder sibling not to hear. Dean sat snickering between Samuel and Wendy before Mr. Hutchins shot him an annoyed glare, "Mine included."

The thought or Wendy should say memory, wiggled through her wards of a chubby pre-pubescent boy being cornered and shoved in a school locker room by a younger looking Frank O'Brien and Al Britton—the sheriff. The emotions that accompanied the memory were ones of humiliation and shame, which had Wendy breathing deeply to try and not let the feelings take control. She blinked back the tears that threatened to fill her eyes and pushed the memory back and away from the forefront of her mind.

Clearing her throat, Wendy reached over towards Dean and gave his ear a swift flick that had him flinching away and shifting his eyes all over the room. "Do'ya think anyone would wanna' hurt Frank? Revenge, maybe?" Wendy questioned for a distracted Dean. She vaguely noticed Samuel looking at his brother in perplexity as Dean twitched his head around the room thinking a snake just tried to take a bite him.

"Well, I don't . . . Frank had a heart attack, right?" The man's brow creased as he looked between the three fake (though obviously he was unaware) FBI agents.

"'Course Mr. Hutchins, we're jus' coverin' all tha' bases." Wendy replied in a soothing manner, smiling brightly and weaving his emotional state to something more calming and agreeable. "Do'ya think someone would wanna' hurt Frank?" Wendy repeated.

"No, I don't think so." Mr. Hutchins smiled back, stroking the python that was still coiled around his arms gently as it slowly made its way up and around his thick neck. "Like I said, he got better. And after what happened to his wife."

"He was married?" Wendy asked conversationally, watching on for any shift in Mr. Hutchins words, for any slight indication of the colours changing; showing that he was lying. But as Mr. Hutchins spoke, Wendy saw that all he spoke was truth.

"She died about twenty years ago. Frank was really broken up about it." The large man looked up, eyed Dean's weary disposition and gave a sheepish grin. "Don't be scared of Donny—he's a sweetheart. It's Marie you got to look out for." Mr. Hutchins gave a nod to the couch they sat upon. "She smells fear."

Dean gasped dramatically as an albino snake slithered its long fat body over the back of the couch, coming between he and his brother. Dean leaned as far away from the reptile as he possibly could without climbing into Wendy's lap.

"Uh, he's got a fear of snakes." Samuel spoke up and stood. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Hutchins. If you think of anything, please call us.

"Yeah, sure."

A few hours later had Dean sitting in the car with the witch in the back seat of the Impala, munching on a bag of almonds that Samuel had kindly shared with her. The witch had offered the bag to Dean, who had outright refused to consume the food, as in his words; 'A choking hazard'. She had been watching the eldest brother carefully for the last few hours, panicking at things one wouldn't normally panic at—or scratching at his left arm persistently.

After visiting Mr. Hutchins, the trio tried to brainstorm what could be the cause of these deaths. The boys had first been adamant about it being a witch, but Wendy had argued that that wasn't the case. Firstly, there wasn't any magical residue surrounding the body of Frank O'Brien. Secondly—if a witch was involved and had the sense to cover her tracks, they would've cast a concealment charm to hide their signature and the residue. Wendy had put together a simple spell to sniff out anything of the witchy variety and had found nothing.

At this point in time, Dean and Wendy were both sitting in the car waiting on Samuel to return from Mr. O'Brien's vacant house while Dean read up on Marie O'Brien. And he was still scratching at his arm. Wendy watched the movement for five minutes, until she found herself copying the action; wincing when the area became inflamed and sore.

"Stop that." Wendy flicked Deans ear, which had him flinching and groaning in annoyance.

The passenger door opened before Dean could turn around and whine at her.

"Hey." Samuel greeted as he climbed into the car. "Any luck at the county clerk's office?"

Dean glanced back at Wendy after hearing the chomp of another almond and shot her a frown. The blonde sent a dreamy smile his way, happily crunching on the snack she had just popped into her mouth; watching him wince at the sound.

"I'm not sure I'd call it luck," He muttered, turning away from the witch with a pout and instead answered his brother instead of instigating an argument with the tiny pain in his ass. "Frank's wife, Marie, was a manic-depressive. She went off her meds back in '88 and vanished. They found her two weeks later, three towns over. Strung up in her motel room, suicide."

"Any chance Frank helped her along to the other side?" Samuel asked reaching back to Wendy and gesturing for the bag of almonds, whom stole three more before handing them over.

"No, Frank was working the swing shift when she disappeared. Airtight alibi." Dean turned the key in the ignition, wrinkling his nose up at his brother and the witch's choice of snack. The car pulled away from the curb and towards the middle of town. "How was Frank's pad?"

"Clean. Searched it top to bottom. No EMF, no hex bags, no sulphur." Samuel ignored the small _'told you so'_ from the back seat.

"So— _probably_ no ghosts, no _witches_ , no demons." Dean relented.

" _It's not witches._ " Wendy sung, while watching the shops go by as they drove.

Dean rolled his eyes and flicked them over to the review mirror to squint at her. He quickly shifted his gaze back out the windshield to make sure he didn't crash and kill them all; slowing the car down to a more sensible speed. "Yeah, alright. We heard you the first time. Three down and ninety-seven to go."

"Yeah . . ." Samuel trailed off. "Dude, you're going twenty."

"And?" The elder sibling retorted defensively, grip tightening upon the steering wheel.

"That's the speed limit."

"What? Safety's a crime now?" Dean bit out, driving through the intersection, past their motel.

"Oh, Dee-dee!" Wendy said, tapping on the window with a pink nail. "We need t' turn 'round."

"I told you not to call me that!"

"Dude, where are you going?" Samuel sided with Wendy, turning around to see the motel growing ever smaller in the distance.

"Sam, I'm not gonna' make a left-hand turn into oncoming traffic. I'm not suicidal." Dean scoffed at his brother, huffing a laugh at the ridiculousness of his companions. Samuel shared a look with Wendy before they both turned their attention back on Dean. "Did I just say that? That was kind of weird." Dean guffawed weakly, squirming in the driver's seat, when a truck drove past too closely.

The whirling noise of the EMF started up. It's frantic sounds seemingly echoing inside the car. Samuel pulled the device from inside his jacket, moving it to and away from Dean as Wendy leant forward watching the movement, a matching frown to Samuel's upon her features.

"Am I haunted? Am I _haunted?_ "

* * *

Wendy browsed the aisles of the little grocery store, trailing behind Samuel as he grabbed a container of four chocolate donuts and placed them in the basket she carried. The shrill ring of his cell phone sounded from inside the pocket of his jacket causing Wendy to pause ahead of him and glance behind; watching as he placed the device to his ear.

It was only the two of them, they had managed to coax Dean out of the hotel room and into the car, but that was as far as the trio got before Dean began to have a meltdown about how likely he was going to crash on the way to the tiny supermarket. So, Wendy had suggested that her and Samuel go while Dean waited back in the room, but the older sibling was adamant that no one would be driving the death trap anywhere and that he'd be just fine waiting in the car for the pair to get back.

"Hey Bobby," Samuel greeted the older hunter.

"Tell 'im I said 'hi'," Wendy whispered loudly, taking a step towards him and tugging on the sleeve of his jacket.

"Wendy says 'hi'," Samuel paused, smiling at whatever Bobby had said. "He says 'hello'," Wendy beamed happily before wondering away from the tall man and down another aisle.

The Valkaras felt the small baby before she saw it. He was laying in the shopping cart fussing while his mother tried to sooth the infant; though that only managed to make the little guy wail louder than before. The mother was tired judging by the bags that sat beneath her eyes, but Wendy could feel the exhaustion that rolled off the woman _. I'm a bad mother. What's wrong with me—there's something wrong with me; that's why he hates me. I don't know what you want, why don't I know? I can't do this, he's better off without me. It's too much, you're too much. I can't look after you—I don't know how. You hate me, I know you do. Why wouldn't you? I can't—I don't—please, please stop crying._

The woman's thoughts echoed through Wendy's mind and it took so much force to push back the intruding thoughts and emotions. The witch felt the urge to cry as she watched the mother bite her trembling lip and try to discreetly wipe at her eyes. Her throat tightened as Wendy took a breath and exhaled slowly through her nose before she stepped towards the two; ignoring the wide-eyed frightened look the mother gave her as the witch gazed down at the cranky little human.

He was tired, the baby, that is. Over-tired, actually, the poor little guy hadn't had a decent sleep for two days due to his sore tummy. All he wanted was cuddles but didn't understand why his mother couldn't hold him twenty-four seven. Wendy winced at the tightening sensation in the pit of her belly, feeling the need to curl up into a ball upon the tiled floor of the grocery store.

"You're not ah bad mother," Wendy reassured as she rubbed her thumb across the baby's brow; calming him and draining the uncomfortable sensation in his belly and allowing the sleepiness to take over—watching on as he began to quieten, his brown eyes drooping until they closed completely. "An' there ain't nothin' wrong with ya'. He loves ya', tha' sound of y' voice, the feel of y' skin—his tummy's jus' hurtin' is all." Wendy recounted as she smiled down at the sleeping baby.

"How . . . how did you—how do you know that?" The mother questioned with watery eyes.

"Take 'im t' tha' doctor for his sore belly." Wendy said instead of answering. "An' maybe find someone t' speak 'bout how'ya feelin'. Doesn't hav'ta be ah doctor—maybe ah friend?" The mother nodded, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and tried to move on, but Wendy quickly grasped the woman's wrist, focusing to not absorb everything within her mind—to keep her shields in place. "You're not ah bad mother. Bad mothers don't think they're bad." Wendy gave her a sleepy grin. "You're ah wonderful mom, he knows it, I know it. Don't let y' thoughts convince y' otherwise. He'll sleep for ah while, so don't worry." Wendy let her own calm flow into the woman, watching the mother's shoulders relax as she stared down at her son.

Wendy let go of the woman's wrist and watched as she walked away and down another aisle. Silver eyes browsed the shelves until a large packet of almonds caught the blonde's eye and she hopped happily over to the snack, plucking two from the shelf—one for herself and one for Samuel; and placing them into her basket. Twirling away from the food packets as the orange skirt she wore lifted slightly with the movement before colliding with a solid form. Large strong hands shot out and held her shoulders to steady the witch.

Silver met gold and Wendy grinned brightly.

"Hey, sunshine. Where's gigantor?" Gigi asked lowly, eyes shifting around them to look for the person in question as Wendy's smile melted off her face and she stepped away; watching his hands fall back to his sides. He didn't seem to notice her movement, his golden eyes currently occupied by scanning the area around them.

"His name is Samuel, an' don't be mean." Wendy said, eyeing the janitor getup he was wearing; the outfit randomly tugged at a buried memory that wouldn't quite surface to the forefront of her mind. She frowned at the uniform; maybe if she glared at it long enough it would give her the answers she sought. Wendy rolled her eyes at her silliness. As if a uniform would ever give her answers to anything.

" _Samuel._ " Gabriel repeated mockingly in a horrid southern accent, which only earnt him a strong glare in return for his childish behaviour. Wendy eyed him coolly. The blonde turned away swiftly and stormed away from the angel.

"Oh, c'mon!" Gabriel whisper-shouted after Wendy, arms waving around. He sighed dramatically as he slinked behind her; keeping low while he tried to match the witch's pace. "Alright, alright—I'm sorry."

Wendy deliberately ignored the angel, throwing a bag of Cheetos into the basket for Dean along with a bag of gummy snakes for herself while she strode down the aisle and turned into another.

"C'mon, Sunshine. I said I was sorry." Gigi smiled charmingly, appearing in her way suddenly and looking up from under his eye lashes.

"Your only sayin' sorry 'cause y' think that'll stop me from bein' mad." Wendy scolded. "Go away an' come back when ya' mean it."

"What—really?" Gabriel scoffed, chuckling a little before witnessing her face morph into a disapproving frown. The angel raised a single brow. "You really want me to go?"

Wendy simply hummed, but Gabriel decided to answer anyway.

"That's stupid."

The Valkaras didn't respond straight away, only looking up at him with her thick brows lowered angrily; giving the angel the stare she'd seen Grams give her Pop over a hundred times. Perhaps this was the best response to such a statement, because she didn't know what to say. The witch wasn't able to go inside his mind and find out why he was being rude, all she had to go on were the colours of his words and the random waves of emotions she would feel from him every now and then—but even then, that gave her nothing as it was few and far between every time they saw each other. And right now, there was nothing from him, only the bright glow that had always surrounded him—which did nothing regarding why he was acting like a—

Wendy held the thought back. Because why should she stoop to his level of pettiness? When has calling people names ever done anybody any good? And why should she have to engage with him when his behaviour was so foul? The witch fought the urge to curse him. Then she considered it. He wouldn't notice, would he? She could do something simple, like turn every sweet he popped in his mouth into something that tasted awful.

"What are you doing?" He eyed her strangely, taking a step away.

"It's called'ah hard stare."

"Well stop it. I don't like it." Gigi said, squinting at her. The witch huffed, now he was making demands of her. Wendy took a step forward, lifted her thumb and forefinger, and flicked Gabriel on the nose: _Veksula Paradarie_ the curse formed in her mind. And then strode away from the angel, continuing to walk down another aisle; only stopping to pick up a box of tampons.

Wendy caught up with Samuel at the check-out, refusing to look around and catch sight of the angel she was so cross with Samuel frowned down at her tiny form, watching Wendy tap her bright yellow shoe against the tiled floor. He turned away from her before turned back with the frown still upon her features.

"You okay?" Samuel mouthed at her before they stepped up to the counter. When she gave nod, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet to hand to her; nodding his head along to something Bobby had said on the other end of the line as Wendy paid for their items.

"No, no. I mean panicking. Over things that Dean doesn't panic about." Samuel said as the pair walked out of the small convenience store. He offered to take the plastic bag from Wendy, but she refused and instead looped her arm through his as they walked back towards the Impala. "Yeah, after we say the body."

There was a lull for a moment as the pair walked by others on the street.

"Ghost sickness?" Samuel questioned, pausing in the middle of the walkway. People muttered at the pair as they walked around them, and Wendy pulled Samuel towards the barber shop after receiving a rather large surge of annoyance from a little old lady with pink hair. Wendy liked the shade of pink, it wasn't too bright, more like a soft pastel colour. Maybe she should get pink hair? When they were no longer blocking the path from angry pedestrians, Wendy eyed her reflection in the barber's window trying to picture herself with pink hair. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, okay."

Samuel hung up the phone, placing it back into his pocket and began to walk again; shortening his strides so the blonde beside him could keep up.

"So, Dee has ghost sickness." Wendy asked as she fished around in the plastic bag and finally found the gummy snakes she bought.

"Yep."

"He's gonna' die?"

"If he keeps panicking, yeah. Turns out though, that this specific bout only effect—well, you know . . ." Samuel trailed off, frowning at a man who wolf whistled at Wendy as they walked by, but she didn't seem to notice as she hummed beside him.

"Assertive people?" The witch offered up, looking up at Samuel and shielding her eyes from the sun that decided today was the day to blind her, the orange gummy snake hanging limply in her hand.

"I was gonna' say 'dicks'. It only effects dicks." Samuel pursed his lips, trying to withhold the laugh that was trying to escape at the look on Wendy's face at his word use.

They continued down the street, faintly hearing music being blasted. As they drew closer, the Impala came into view, the heavy beat coming from the car speakers with Dean nowhere in sight. The pair stood on the opposite side of the street, eyeing the care for any sign of life.

"He's in there, right?" Samuel asked.

Wendy dropped her walls and reached out for Dean, ignoring the thoughts and emotions of those around her, and finding the lyrics of _Eye of the Tiger_ running through her mind. Dean was too focused on the lyrics and the beat to panic at the moment, and Wendy was happy to see that he'd found something to keep himself occupied that also calmed the terror that was trying to kill him.

"Mhmm," Wendy nodded and heaved the walls back up and around her mind; her shoulder sagged a little bit from the effort. They crossed the road quickly before Samuel's large hand came down hard upon the roof of the car, causing Dean to sit up with a stair; his sharp jab of fear breaking through Wendy's wards and causing her to jump—smacking Samuel's stomach in disapproval at his mischievousness.

"Hey. Look at this." Dean climbed out of the car and pulled up the sleeve of his left arm to show the pair the nasty scratches that lives there.

"I told'ya t' stop doin' that." Wendy scolded with her hands on her hips, watching Dean retaliate by scrunching his face up.

"Just talked to Bobby." Samuel started, taking the box of donuts Wendy handed him and gave them to Dean.

"And?" Dean sniffed at the box; frowning down at the desert before throwing it into the front seat of the car.

"Um, well," Samuel stared blankly at the donuts for a moment. "You're not gonna' like it."

"What?"

"It's ghost sickness." Wendy piped up, offering a gummy snake to Samuel.

"Ghost sickness?"

Samuel and Wendy nodded in union, biting into their sugary treats.

"God, no." The elder sibling stared at the two in mild horror.

"Yeah." Samuel nodded.

"I don't even know what that is." Dean worried at his bottom lip, eyes shifting back and forth between his younger brother and the witch.

Samuel rolled his eyes and scratched at his jaw. "Okay. Some cultures believe that certain spirits can infect the living with a disease, which is why they stopped displaying bodies in house and started taking them off to funeral homes." Samuel switched into professor mode and Wendy thought that the career would suit him, if he were to ever stop the whole hunting thing.

"Okay, get to the good stuff." Dean gestured, placing his hands on his hips, shuffling slightly as he waited.

"Symptoms are you get anxious . . ." Samuel began.

"Yeah . . ."

"Then scared, then really scared, then your heart gives out. Sound familiar?"

Dean frowned, "Yeah, but we haven't seen a ghost in weeks."

"Well, I doubt you caught it from a ghost." Samuel took another gummy snake from Wendy's hand. "Look, once a spirit infects that first person, Ghost sickness can spread like any sickness through a cough, a handshake, whatever." He gestured with the snack. "It's like the flu. Now, Frank O'Brien was the first to die, which means he was probably the first infected. Patient zero."

"Our very own outbreak monkey."

"What?" Wendy asked, munching on another gummy snake.

"What do you mean, "what'?" Dean shot back.

"Right." Samuel rubbed his temple and sighed. "Get this, Frank was in Maumee over the weekend. Softball tournament. Which is where he must have infected the other two victims."

"Were they gamecocks?" Den raised his brows, his lips twitching upwards.

"Cornjerkers." Samuel retorted.

"That's not funny." Wendy piped in.

" _You're_ not funny." Dean mumbled, scrunching his face up when Wendy opened her mouth and showed the chewed up and deformed looking sweet that sat there before turning his attention back to his brother. "So, ghosts infected Frank. He passed it on to the other guys and I got it from his corpse?"

"Right." Samuel nodded.

"So now what, I have forty-eight hours before I go insane and my heart stops?"

"More like twenty-four."

"Super." Dean choked out, taking the gummy snake Wendy gave him and chomping into it angrily. "Well, why me? Why not you? I mean, you got hit with the spleen juice." Dean snapped, panicking a little while he chewed on the sweet furiously and gestured over to the witch who was snacking away. "And you were being all creepy, leaning over the body and whatever."

"Yeah, um." Samuel shifted his gaze to Wendy, finding that she was glaring at some old guy in a janitor's uniform who looked a little put out by it. He frowned at her but shook it off; turning his attention back to Dean. "You see Bobby and I have a theory about that too. Turns out all three victims shared a certain, uh, personality type. Frank was a bully. The other two victims, one was a vice principal, the other was a bouncer."

" _Okay."_

"Basically, they were all dicks." Samuel stated plainly.

Wendy's attention shifted from Gabriel pretending to be an old man, as if she wouldn't notice the golden white light that surrounded him, back to the brothers at the sound of the vulgar word.

"So, you're saying I'm a dick?" Dean took a step back away from the insult.

"No, darlin'. Jus' that, well—ya'll jus' happen t' share ah few traits." Wendy jumped in soothingly, stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"It's not just that. All three victims used fear as a weapon, and now this disease is just returning the favor." Samuel explained, watching on as Dean's jaw clenched.

"I don't _scare_ people."

"Dean, all we _do_ is scare people." The younger sibling countered while Wendy stood beside his taller form holding up her thumb and pointer finger so there was only a tiny gap between the two.

"Okay, well then, you're dicks too." Dean accused, looking like a toddler who wasn't getting their own way. Wendy looked positively aghast at the accusation, taking a step away with her mouth dropping open while Samuel smirked at his brother's tantrum.

"Apparently not."

"Whatever. How do we stop it?"

"We gank the ghost that started all this. We do that, the disease should clear up."

"You thinkin' Frank's wife?"

"Personally, I don't think so." Wendy spoke up, stuffing her fists into the pockets of her yellow coat. "Suicidal ghosts don't cause these types of thangs. They don't have fear like this—it's more sad."

"And who knows why she killed herself, you know?" Samuel shrugged. Dean frowned at the witch, but she refused to meet his gaze. "You didn't go back to the room. Why. . ?"

Dean shifted his gaze away from Blondie and looked up at the frighteningly tall building, swallowing down the nervous vomit that was trying to escape his mouth just by the sight of it. "Our rooms on the fourth floor. It's . . . it's _high._ "

"Honey, c'mere." Wendy stepped forward once more and placed her smaller hand on Dean's wrist, fingers brushing against the leather band that sat there and lowered her walls to only allow access to him.

Wendy watched on as Dean inhaled deeply and took another gummy snake from the packet she held; gnawing away as the witch meddled with his emotions, drawing out the anxiety and managing to twist the emotion into something that resembled serenity. It was odd though, Wendy almost found doing so difficult. It was like there was a block on his emotions that wasn't there before, like something was playing tug-a-war with her as she tried to calm Dean down. She managed though, it took longer then it normally would have, but eventually Wendy had Dean calm enough to relax his ram rod stance and lean back against the car.

"I'll see if I can move us down to the first." said Samuel, turning away from the pair towards the hotel as Wendy finally released Dean's wrist.

"Coconuts migrate." Wendy said as she leaned back against the car beside Dean.

"What?" Dean frowned at Blondie, watching as she tilted her head back up at the sky. He shot a quick glance upwards just to be sure that there wasn't a meteor heading their way and the wack job witch forgot to mention it.

"They jus' . . . floated over from Asia an' decided they liked tha' scenery better in tha' Caribbean."

Dean shook his head at the random shit that would spill from her mouth.

"Right . . . uh, thanks, by the way." Dean mumbled to the witch while watching his brother walk into the motel.

"No worries, Dee-dee." she grinned sleepily.

"Don't call me that."

* * *

 _Tell me what you think!_


End file.
